Blind Faith
by LovinJackson
Summary: BrotherhoodAU. Caleb's trust in a new hunter causes deadly consequences for John. Will Caleb overcome his new handicap and guilt before its too late for his mentor?
1. Gut Instincts Are Rarely Wrong

**Blind Faith**

**Author:** Tara aka LovinJackson

**Summary:** _BrotherhoodAU._ Caleb's trust in a new hunter causes deadly consequences for John. Will Caleb overcome his new handicap and guilt before its too late for his mentor?

**Disclaimer:** Kripke owns Supernatural and Ridley C. James owns the Brotherhood. No Copyright Infringement Intended.

**A/N1:** This story has been a long time coming. Requested by my **mother** (who wanted a Brotherhood story involving John and Caleb with plenty of hurt for John) I have worked and stressed and come to an agreement with my muse that seems to have worked for both of us. I dont know whether this is any good but I am damn well determined to get this story up and out there and am already writing the second chapter as we speak. Thanks to my **Mum** and **Angelustatt** and **Ridley C. James** who all did their part, reading through this, at some stage in helping me get this chapter finished and thanks to **Fredo** and **cdewinter78** for keeping me motivated even when it looked like I was getting nothing done. If you're going to come along for the ride? I hope you enjoy and thanks in advance for taking the time :) Now onto the story ...

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**Chapter 1. Gut Instincts are Rarely Wrong**

The kitchen was quiet enough to make Caleb suspicious. He let his gaze wonder the immediate area carefully, his experience and hunting skills on high alert for the danger in the midst of a place he considered home.

There was no movement coming from the living room either, human or canine. The entire house was quiet. Too quiet.

Caleb blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light shining through the kitchen window and onto the yellow walls. The room thrummed with an inviting sense of contentment - family. Caleb assumed that was what Pastor Jim had been going for when he had painted the kitchen the bright and inviting colour but right now Caleb was dealing with the stark contrast from The Hunters Tomb where he had spent the better part of the afternoon. He didn't want to be lulled into a false sense of security. The last few days had taught him to stay on guard at all times and it was all Bobby's fault.

What the man was thinking when he gave Sam the idea that magic was a good idea Caleb would never know. It was Sam's interesting new hobby that had kept the psychic sequestered in the tomb doing research.

He had just made it across the linoleum, his growling stomach drawing him to the refrigerator when the banging of the scream door nearly had him dropping the pitcher of Jim's homemade lemonade. "Damn it, Deuce."

The seventeen year old grinned. "Jumpy in your old age, Damien?"

Caleb grabbed the lemonade, stacking ham, cheese and mustard on top of the pitcher before heading to the table.

"You're making lunch?" Dean moved forward. "Where's Jim?"

"Obviously Merlin is smart enough to make himself scarce. Thanks to the Runt 'the Magnificent', we are on our own to forage."

Caleb had legitimate reasons for hiding out but there was only so long he could stay down in the Hunter's Tomb alone. He needed human interaction eventually, but he wasn't desperate enough to play caterer. "I'm making _my_ lunch. If you're hungry you can do the same."

Dean made his way to the cabinet, grabbing two glasses and some plates. "It's good to see all that time alone hasn't hurt your generous nature."

"What are you complaining about? I said I'd share." Caleb spoke while beginning to build his masterpiece of ham and swiss.

Caleb filled his glass and left the pitcher on the table instead of getting up to put it away. "Speaking of my busy morning, where have you been?"

Dean took the bread and started his own creation. "I wasn't hiding."

"Right."

"I'm surprised you've come up for air. Get tired of hiding?"

Caleb glared. "I wasn't hiding," he replied, mimicking Dean's words from only moments before.

"What do you call it?"

"Research … Johnny's being his usual stubborn self since last night. I'm doing what I can so he doesn't burst a blood vessel when I go."

"You're still going?" The frown on Dean's face indicated he didn't think much of the decision and Caleb wasn't too surprised. If John was worried about something then more often than not it wasn't without reason and there weren't many people that Dean trusted like he did his old man … especially when it came to hunting.

Caleb shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. He looked down at the other one and with a moment of deciding whether he really wanted the second one or not, Caleb pushed the plate towards his friend who took it without question.

"I'm still going regardless," Caleb finally answered once his mouthful had been swallowed. It wasn't a big deal.

"But …"

"It's just a matter of whether it's solo or with a tagalong," Caleb interrupted. "I'm kinda hoping for the former but we'll see."

"You're not supposed to hunt alone for a reason, you know," Dean said, looking at him pointedly. It wasn't something that he didn't know and it wasn't something that he didn't agree with either. He understood exactly why that rule was more often than not enforced but it didn't change the fact that John was overreacting to the whole situation. Caleb didn't want to point out that it was a rule that John didn't always follow himself.

Caleb turned in his seat as he popped the last bit of sandwich in his mouth. "This isn't exactly a hunt … yet," he said, his mouth full.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Semantics … and disgusting."

Caleb swallowed quickly and then smiled. Resting his elbows on the table, Caleb clasped his hands in front of him, catching sight of his watch on his left wrist. It was well after two in the afternoon. It was no wonder why his stomach hadn't stood for any more hiding and forced him to find food regardless of the dangers awaiting him. "Where the hell is John anyway?"

"Giving your jeep a once over. That was the last I heard," Dean supplied, finishing off Caleb's other sandwich. He dusted his hands of bread crumbs over the small plate.

"Hiding too, huh?"

"Yep."

"Maybe the Runt should be this annoying all the time. My jeep would be in pristine condition," Caleb quipped. The jeep got him from place to place good enough but he didn't deny that her upkeep wasn't big on his list of priorities. Besides, having two mechanics in the family should negate his own needs to tend to the jeep.

"It wouldn't be such a big job if you actually maintained it better," Dean admonished and what could he really say to that? Not a lot but he still stood by his idea that having mechanics in the family came with perks … or at least it should.

The screen door once again alerted Caleb to the fact that someone had entered the house. The tenseness was back and then doubled some with Dean also in the room hovering between sitting and standing, an excuse of how he was incredibly busy already on his lips. It would have been almost amusing if Caleb hadn't felt the same. They all loved Sam. Really, they did … they could just love him a lot more pain free without the twenty four seven magic show.

John Winchester walked into the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dirty, greased stained rag. His face was covered in specks of dirt with one single strip of grease down his left cheek. He looked the epitome of your stereotypical mechanic and Caleb suddenly wondered whether John missed it, but wasn't willing to ask.

Two steps behind the Knight was the youngest Winchester, newly thirteen and newly caped … thanks to Bobby. He was going to get that bastard back. The least the older man could have done was stick around for the torture. Gripped tightly in Sam's hand was a black velvet bag, no doubt filled with whatever evils that had come in Bobby's monster magic kit. Oh Joy.

"Hey, Runt. What's up?" Caleb asked cautiously, ruffling the kid's hair as he walked past to sit down on his brother's right.

"Nothin'" Sam replied glumly, plonking down in the chair looking tired ... or bored. The more he looked at the kid he actually felt a little guilty for hiding out the way he had … maybe a little.

"What are _you_ two up to?" John asked good naturedly, grabbing a glass from the cupboard above the bench near the refrigerator. "And put the damn drinks back when you are finished with them. Some of us appreciate cold drinks as well."

"Yes, Mom."

"Have you called Joshua yet?" John asked, ignoring Caleb's sarcastic reply as he poured himself a glass and put the pitcher back in the fridge. It barely had any lemonade left in it. It was a damn double standard and something that Jim was always telling them off about, but again Caleb didn't think something like that was really worth mentioning. John downed the glass in three long gulps; the relief of the cool liquid hitting his pallet was obvious.

"Not yet."

"You're not going then?"

Caleb looked sideways at Dean. The kid was waiting for an answer as well. Watching to see how this was going to go down. It was nothing new for them to get into a debate but it wasn't often that it was a debate on John keeping Caleb _from_ a hunt. Sam's expression had also turned from boredom to interest.

Giving John back his attention, Caleb crossed his arms over his chest and crossed one foot over the other, Jim's bench now being the only thing holding him upright. "I wanted to double check a few things first. Tony is expecting me."

"Who's Tony?" Sam asked looked from each hunter before his gaze rested back on Caleb.

"His new girlfriend," Dean muttered, a lopsided grin on his face as his eyes connected with Caleb's.

"He's a hunter, Sammy," John corrected.

Sam glanced at his father before giving his attention back to Caleb. "You're girlfriend's a guy?" Sam asked; his voice indicative that he didn't believe that for a second. That was something. At least Sam didn't think being gay was a possibility.

"The vote's still out on whether Tony's a guy or not." This time Dean full on snickered.

"He's just some hunter, Sammy," Caleb explained to the youngest Winchester. "I think Jim's considering him for our little secret society."

"He's not part of the Brotherhood?"

"Not yet. Not just anyone can get a ring, Runt." The silver Jim dolled out had to be earned, had to be trusted to you. Jim was very careful when deciding who got their rings and when. Caleb could still remember the night he had received his own ring … Dean had nearly died that night. That was etched into his memory but so was the feeling when after a massive chewing out, John tossed him his ring. It had been what he had strived for so long to get and what he continued to strive to deserve everyday … sometimes he wondered. "Jim's careful with who he gives these baby's to." Caleb held up his hand, wiggling his fingers and displaying his own silver band.

"So what is Jim looking at this dude for then? He doesn't even come from a hunting family."

"Give it a rest, Dean," John finally spoke up, stepping over Caleb's outstretched legs to get to the sink where he proceeded to wash his hands. "We're not exactly the ones to point that fact out."

"Yes sir." Dean answered, only looking slightly annoyed. He controlled himself, leaning back on his chair, flipping Caleb off when John's back was to him.

Dean disliked Tony Michaels from the first time he had met the man a few weeks back, before Tony had started his undercover stint in the cult they were investigating. Caleb wasn't sure yet why the kid was put off. Tony was a little gung-ho when it came to hunting but at the same time could get way too distracted way too easily. All it took was a short skirt and it was all over. The time spent with the man over the last couple of months - at Jim's request - had Caleb beginning to wonder if he was as easily distracted. Maybe Jim was trying to teach him something before Dean was totally corrupted by his ways. If that was Jim's plan? Then he was definitely a little late on the mark.

"Anyway …" Caleb began again, looking at Sam as he spoke, ignoring Dean's sudden pissy-ness. "Jim asked me to spend some time with him, impart my vast knowledge on cults."

"Vast knowledge?"

Ignoring was over-rated. "Shut up." Caleb picked up the tea towel lying on the bench and threw it in Dean's direction only for Dean to duck. The towel landed on the floor beside Sam.

"You're aims off," Sam told him, leaning down sideways in order to pick up the towel.

"It's a hand towel, Sammy, it's not science," Caleb retorted.

"Get to the point, Junior." John walked around and took the hand towel from Sam to wipe his hands, remaining standing behind the boys. He rested a hand on the back of Sam's chair.

"To the point?" Caleb asked. Was it old age or just stubbornness? Caleb looked down at his watch and then back up at John. "I agreed to meet Tony at seven. I need five hours to get there and if I want to make the meeting then I need to leave in at least an hour."

"Have you called Joshua?"

"Why would I call Joshua?

"Because I said you aren't going there alone."

Caleb's jaw clenched tightly against the irrational urge to shout in frustration. John had been steadfast against the idea since he'd received the call from the other hunter the night before. "I'm not a kid, John and I'm meeting with a damn hunter. It's nothing…"

"_Yet_." John countered and then pushed back off Sam's chair and placed his hands on his hips. "I'm sorry, Caleb but this guy is green, been undercover in this so called cult for a week and a half with no contact and … and isn't exactly someone I trust."

"That's exactly why I should go."

"I agree with you but you're still not going alone."

"You're impossible." Caleb complained.

"Maybe so…"

"I'll go," Dean interrupted the escalating battle of wills between mentor and student.

Caleb followed John's line of sight. Dean sat at Jim's kitchen table like the solution to the problem should be obvious. Green eyes too big for the kid's face stared back at John and Caleb unflinchingly.

Caleb eyed him suspiciously. "Since when have you wanted to do anything that involved Tony?" Dean hadn't spent much time at all around the other man but the times that he had it hadn't been pleasant for anyone. Dean wasn't one to hide what he really felt.

"This isn't about him."

"It's a moot point because Dean isn't going either," John stopped any planning between the two immediately.

"Why?" Dean challenged.

Caleb groaned and gripped the back of the empty chair in front of him, leaning forward with his head down. He had the sudden desire to smash his own head against the hard wood of the table … or John's. John wasn't stopping him from going at all, just from going alone and when a solution was presented that wasn't to John's liking it was shot down. Was the man just trying to be annoying?

"You know why, Dean. Don't think you're fooling me on this one, Ace. It's not happening."

"I think a hunt is a little more important, Dad. It's just a paper."

"A paper?" Caleb asked in confusion. John was making an issue of hunting over school work? Now Dean's reasoning for wanting to come along despite meeting with Tony made a little more sense.

Sam nodded up at him. "It's a real important one."

"Stay out of this, Sam."

"But …"

"I mean it."

"Boys! Enough. Dean you're getting that paper done this weekend. I don't care. Is that understood?"

"Understood," Dean replied without his usual good little soldier impersonation.

Caleb would learn more before he left the farm but for now there were more important issues than Dean's reluctance to do a school paper. "What about the hunt?" Caleb asked bringing them all back to the problem at hand.

"What about it?" John asked. "I don't see the problem."

Caleb snorted and looked away before looking back at John. "I do. I was told to go alone."

"Argue all you want, Junior. Mac would agree with me on this."

"Mac isn't here."

"Exactly and I'm not looking to receive a lecture on the proper care and feeding of one Caleb Reaves. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. It's not as fun as it sounds," John noted, keeping his eyes on Caleb as he stood behind the boys, a hand on each of their chairs.

"I'm not a kid anymore," Caleb argued, crossing his arms over his chest. He was twenty five years old and quite capable of handling a meet and greet.

"You're _his_ kid, dude," John pointed out.

"You're being an ass because you're afraid of my father?" Mac had been known to get aggressive. The man was protective of those he loved and it was something that he admired in his father and it was something that he appreciated having directed at him … until moments like these came about.

"No, Caleb, I'm being an ass because I don't trust this. I don't want spend my weekend saving your sorry ass."

"I'm touched … really," Caleb added sarcastically, eye-roll in full force.

"I'm serious, Caleb. Look, all I'm asking is that you take someone with you to hide away in the background. If that's messing with your tough guy image there's nothing I can do about it." John looked down at his sons, who had been surprisingly quiet during the whole exchange and then raised his eyes back to Caleb, a thoughtful expressing hiding in the dark hazel depths and Caleb had a feeling whatever John was about to say next would have him screwed. "Would you let Dean … or Sammy go in alone if you honestly thought there was a danger?"

He knew it. John had a way of infuriating him and knocking the wind from his sails in one well manoeuvred attack. It was probably why John was the Knight and he was the protégé … didn't make it any less annoying. "No … I wouldn't." Caleb scowled at Dean when the kid raised an eyebrow at the turn of events.

"All I'm saying is that it doesn't hurt to be cautious. You're a damn good psychic, kid, but you aint invincible."

"I get it, I get it," Caleb admitted begrudgingly. He didn't know why he was arguing so much over it. Maybe he was subconsciously trying to prove himself or maybe he was getting too complacent. Regardless? John never worried over nothing so if he was being cautious then it meant Caleb should at least respect that. "I still have a problem."

"You _are_ a problem," Dean interjected, seemingly enjoying the chance to take a playful shot.

"Takes one to know one, Deuce," Caleb retaliated, grinning at his friend before bringing his attention back to John. "Joshua's too far out and I'm not sure who else will be able to get there on short notice. I did make some phone calls."

Apparently hunting season was well in force in the supernatural world at the moment. Bobby was at home in South Dakota so he had been a no-go, Joshua was busy and not exactly jumping at the chance to help with the menial task and that suited Caleb just fine. A couple of other names had been called, all brotherhood members and all out on their own job … didn't leave many options.

"Why don't you go with him, Dad?" Sam asked looking at his father intently. What was it with the Winchester boys and their ability to look as if they had just given you an obvious answer?

"Me?" "Him?" John and Caleb asked simultaneously.

Sam shrugged a shoulder, his black cape rippling in the process. "Sure, I mean it would be the best way to make sure nothing happened."

John pursed his lips, not immediately dismissing Sam's suggestion. He seemed to be weighing up his options. Caleb waited expectantly. Whatever happened he needed an answer and he needed it soon. The older man contemplated silently for a few more moments before directing his gaze at Sam's.

"That's not a bad idea, Sammy," John concluded, winking at his youngest.

Sam beamed at the praise. The kid was at a tricky age. The hunting lifestyle was getting less and less appealing for Sam and you didn't have to hear him speak to know that but at the same time praise from John Winchester was better than gold. Caleb remembered those days and could admit to himself that maybe John's praise still did have some of that same effect on him now … on occasion. The older man might frustrate the hell out of him, make him madder than almost anyone else did but John was still his mentor, his family. There was still enough awe there for the child in Caleb to believe John had the ability to fix anything.

"So you're gonna come with me?" Caleb asked to clarify.

"It's me or someone else and looking at the time frame you're working with? The closest person would probably be …"

"Hastings," Caleb finished for him. That was never a comforting thought. The guy was a total douchebag … among other distasteful things.

John lifted a shoulder as if to say 'those were the breaks'.

"I know who I'd pick," Dean commented idly, a darkness having edged its way under his casual appearance. "Unless of course your plan was to hand Ian over as a human sacrifice to this cult."

Ian Hastings had never been Dean's favourite person. Tony? Dean didn't like, but Caleb was sure it was more territorial than anything else. Dean held his family close. But Ian was a whole other story and one that Caleb could relate to considering the past. But the past was the past and Ian wasn't an issue … apparently he had someone else along for the ride. Someone he could trust.

"I guess I'm stuck with you then," Caleb conceded. It really wasn't a hard choice.

"That settles it, then." John wiped his hands on his dirty grey t-shirt and moved away from the table, not before squeezing both his sons' shoulders at the same time.

Caleb reached out and grabbed John's arm as he went to pass. "I'm driving. Remember, you're not there."

"Yes sir," John mocked. "Kid, I have experience in stealth."

"Just reminding you, Johnny, the memory is the first to go with age, y'know.

John chuckled and continued walking, cuffing Caleb on the back of the head lightly as he left the room.

Caleb sighed and then stretched, relishing in the sound of a few joints popping.

"Who's the one getting old?" Dean teased.

"It's just the strain of having to put up with you lot."

Caleb felt like something had been accomplished. It hadn't exactly been what he had been aiming for but when John made up his mind it was almost impossible to change it. Having John tag along wasn't the worst result in the world.

Now he was left with the two youngest Winchesters and there was bound to be an interesting story there. Neither boy had moved from where they had been sitting and Caleb moved to join them, taking a seat across from Sam.

He gave Dean's shoulder a quick push. "So … school paper? What's the deal?"

Dean groaned and looked away in a familiar agitation that had no real fire behind it. Sam looked at his brother and then to Caleb. "His teacher has been hassling Dad about it."

"Really?" Caleb asked slowly, his eyes canting towards Dean again. "Dude?"

"It's nothing, Damien."

"When your Dad makes issue of school work it kind of sparks an interest." It wasn't that John didn't care about schooling. He knew the man did but the hunt usually absorbed all of his attention and with the amount of times the boys changed schools things never really became an issue. New schools, new lessons and new teachers. "If you're having trouble with something you can always ask for help."

Dean looked at him like he clearly thought Caleb was calling him an idiot. "I'm not having trouble with the work, moron."

"Then what's the problem."

"He's been stalling," Sam filled in for his brother, making Caleb's curiosity peak. It wouldn't be the first time Dean had issue with a certain subject or assignment.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean frowned at the younger boy. He looked at Caleb and squirmed. "It's not a big deal, dude and it's about as much your business as it is Mr. Cant mind my own business, here." Dean jabbed his thumb in Sam's direction.

The sound of gravel crunching under tyres and the familiar engine rumble of Jim's truck interrupted the conversation and Caleb took this as his chance. ""Hey Runt, why don't you go and help Jim bring in the groceries?"

"But …"

"He might be more receptive to some more magic tricks if you help him," Caleb offered, dropping the pastor right into it … and feeling no guilt whatsoever.

Sam sighed in a way only young teens could, clearly telling them that he wasn't happy with being dismissed but that he would do as he was asked. "Fine."

Dean watched his brother go silently but made no move himself. His index finger bounced on the table top and he actually looked tired. Caleb frowned. "So…"

"So …"

"Well spit it out, man."

"It's just …" Dean stopped and Caleb waited patiently, remembering the occasional Mothers day Dean had had trouble with in the past but it wasn't anywhere near mothers day now so Cale assumed that wasn't the problem. "It's just this paper on our future."

That was it? "What so bad about that?"

"Nothing," Dean admitted. "But what am I supposed to write, Damien? I doubt hunting the supernatural is an acceptable career move to a school counsellor."

The boy had a point but was that all he saw in his future? It worried Caleb a lot. "What about baseball?"

Dean snorted and looked away with a sad, yet amused smile before looking back at the psychic. "That's not being very realistic, dude."

"Don't tell me that you couldn't get a full ride anywhere you want on a scholarship, Deuce. I've seen you play."

Dean leant forward, his green eyes burning holes into Caleb's head. "Do you really think that's even on the cards?"

"Maybe…"

"Have you met my family?"

"Unfortunately," Caleb quipped. "Look, all I'm saying is that you shouldn't sell yourself short and I know I bitched and bitched, but college isn't all that bad."

"You? Bitching?" Dean raised a brow and smirked.

"Don't try that deflecting shit on me." Caleb wasn't taking that bait.

"Fine," Dean relented and sat back again, resting his arms out in front of him on the table. "And I'm not selling myself short, I just know my options. I can't leave Dad and Sammy … and hunting is what I wanna do."

"Don't close off your options." It was frustrating to know that part of what Dean was saying was right. Caleb had Mac and had been given every chance some people could only dream of. Sammy was encouraged to excel at school but Dean, a lot of the time was left hanging in the wind looking after what mattered most to him … but what was left over for Dean?

"That's all I'm saying and as for this paper? It doesn't need to be totally non-fiction. Dude, think of it as telling a story. It's not like you haven't gone undercover before. Just treat it like that and don't make it personal and see how you go."

Dean's mind was ticking over, assimilating what Caleb was saying. Eventually he reacted with a smile. "I knew I put up with your presence for a reason. That's not a bad idea."

"I do come up with them occasionally," he stated dryly and tapped his head. "You'd be surprised what's up here."

"I'm continually surprised to find there's _something_ up there, Damien."

"Funny guy."

"I try."

Caleb felt settled. Dean's thoughts on his own future were worrying but for now they seemed to have come to a point of agreement that he could live with, although he wasn't going to let this go. He didn't want Dean to get lost in the struggle against evil. They all deserved something different to balance life with hunting and it wouldn't be fair for Dean to miss out because he was made to believe he was less important than his family's needs. He had a whole five hours with John at a stretch … maybe on their way back he could bring it up.

"But speaking of good ideas … Tony? Really?"

Caleb hadn't expected that turn and frowned in exasperation. "What have you got against the guy?"

"Do you want a list?"

"Not really."

"Just do me a favour and watch yourself." All jokes were gone from the younger man's voice and real concern could be detected. "That's all I'm asking … of you and Dad."

Caleb lifted a shoulder and gave a lop-sided grin. "You know me …" he paused when he saw the look Dean directed at him. "Okay, I'll be careful. Happy?" he conceded.

"It'll do for now." Dean pushed his chair back and stood as voices and footsteps could be heard coming from the living room. "Although, I think this is a big cop out."

"How do you figure that?" This was bound to be an interesting theory.

"You just want a break from the magic show."

xXx

Jumping into the driver's seat before Caleb could reach it; John closed the door with a resounding thud and waited for the younger hunter to make his way around to the passenger side of the jeep.

"I thought we discussed this driving thing?" Caleb asked, frowning.

"It's a long drive and I want you sharp. You can take the wheel back when we get closer."

"Fine," Caleb replied as he got comfortable in his seat, his gaze directed up to where Pastor Jim was standing on the porch with Dean and Sam. The psychic gave them a little wave as John reversed, before sliding the jeep's gears into drive.

They fell into a comfortable silence as John steered the jeep out of the long driveway and onto the road. The jeep felt good under the control of John's hands. He was pleased with how it was running; the rattling sound it had been making when Caleb had first arrived at the farm was now just a distant memory. The old vehicle did its job when properly maintained.

Caleb leant forward, his hand reaching for the dial on the silent radio. John was quicker, slapping the kids hand away. "House rules, dude."

Caleb cocked his head to the side and eyed John skeptically. "House rules? This isn't the Impala, house rules don't apply."

"They do when I'm driving and I'm not spending five hours listening to your crap."

"My music is _not_ crap," Caleb argued indignantly.

John dipped his head to the side, pursing his lips. "Not all of it," he agreed and then slapped Caleb's hand away from the radio again. He wasn't finished yet.

Caleb sighed loudly, taking exception to his radio being off-limits. "What now? And don't give me that 'house rules' crap"

"Answer some questions and you can listen to whatever the fuck you want."

"Fine."

It sounded petulant but John didn't see any of the childish behaviour in the man beside him so he continued. "What's with you and this guy?"

"Have you been listening to your son again?" Caleb asked dryly.

John looked askance at the hunter beside him. He'd had all the smart mouth replies anyone could take over the last few days of Dean and Caleb catching up at the farm. When those boys got on a roll it just about flowed seamlessly from their mouths at each other, at Sammy. John really didn't care all that much what they did together but this was important, this was a hunt and Caleb needed to be serious.

Caleb must have gotten the silent message John was sending because he shifted in the seat, resting his elbow on the open window. "I don't know." Caleb shrugged, his eyes resting on the road in front of them. "I guess I kind of get where he's coming from," Caleb admitted.

"And where is that?"

"You know his story."

John nodded. He did know Tony's story. It was in the job description to know these things but he didn't know everything. "I know his story but I'm still waiting to hear how it connects to this case. What made him go against orders?"

Caleb sighed. "In his final year of High School his best buddy vanished. Tony was convinced it was the new religious group his friend had gotten involved with. They seemed to disappear off the map."

"I know that."

"You asked, I'm telling …"

"I'm listening," John conceded. They had a long drive. There was plenty of time to do nothing but go over what they knew.

"Thank you. Now where was I?"

"Religious group disappearing."

"Right … so Tony joined the cops straight out of high school. He reckons all he could think about was finding out what happened to his friend … they were like brothers, y'know?"

"So he became a cop in order to legally hunt down this group he thought had taken his friend?"

"And use their resources. He followed the trail, transferring from office to office until he finally came across them. Caught the tail end of a sacrifice and that's where it gets shaky. He wasn't too clear on what happened, other than hunters finding him and saving his ass before he was caught. From there you know the rest."

"So he thinks he's found them again?"

"He _knows_ he has but unlike last time he's more prepared, he knows more …"

"He's being reckless." That was the one thing that John didn't like and even more so when one of his own was being put in the position to fall victim to that recklessness. "Jim warned and asked him not to take this gig on by himself. It was going to be taken care of. We don't hunt alone when we can help it, Caleb. You know that. And if Tony can't follow a directive from the Guardian himself?"

"I know," Caleb agreed.

_He knew_. John ran a hand through his hair, readjusting his loose grip on the steering wheel. Caleb knew and yet he still came running when the other man called surrounding suspicious circumstances. "Why did he even ask to join the Brotherhood then?"

"It's not as simple as that, John. He didn't realise there were others. This hunting community thing is new to him. He has potential or Jim wouldn't have even considered him for a ring, or put me on his case."

"I'm not saying he doesn't have potential."

"Then what?"

"I don't like this."

"So you've said. I'm not going into this blind y'know? Are you forgetting who my teacher was?" Caleb's lip curled up in a smile as he looked back at John.

John snorted. "You think buttering me up is going to shut me up?"

"I would never think that, John," Caleb deadpanned, rolling his eyes a second later

"Smart ass," John grumbled good-naturedly. He did have faith in Caleb. He had seen to it that Caleb was the best he could be and the kid had been a natural from day one. But that didn't mean he still didn't worry, especially when the niggling feeling in his gut wouldn't leave. "So Tony thinks this ritual sacrifice he witnessed was what happened to his friend all those years ago?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah … he followed a pattern of missing persons. He put together a damn good file."

"Jim showed me. He's thorough, I'll give him that. I just don't want his thirst for revenge to get anyone else hurt." He didn't want Caleb caught up in something that was badly planned and Tony had made it difficult to put a team on the job without the possibility of breaking his cover. He'd put them all in an awkward position.

"Some would say justice. I know I wouldn't stop at anything if it had happened to Deuce."

John once again glanced to the side and caught Caleb's expression, the pointed look he was throwing his way. John knew he had just sounded like a hypocrite and he knew all about wanting revenge … or justice. "I know you wouldn't. And we don't leave our own hanging in the cold either."

"I thought he wasn't one of our own yet?"

John shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time one of us was saved from our own pigheadedness." Tony didn't have a ring but he was a hunter and his cause was not unlike all of theirs. Everyone started in hunting somehow and John could appreciate that. But on the same hand there was one reason and one reason only that he was going along with this. "And this isn't just about Tony. We're going to pick up a cult member?"

"She wants out but she's scared. Tony has gained her trust and has promised her that he will get her out. She agreed to go along with him on the prevision that it was all cloak and dagger. If she sees more than one person she might freak out."

"Right … well maybe you should get some shut-eye. You don't want to freak her out with that face."

Caleb laughed for the first time since their drive started. "Bite me." He leaned forward trying to once more turn on the CD player and this time John didn't stop him.

Placing the sunglasses he'd had hanging from his shirt over his eyes, Caleb folded his arms over his chest and rested his head against the head rest. "Wake me when you want me to drive, Johnny."

John put his foot down on the accelerator, his gaze focusing on the road ahead as his mind swirled with thoughts. He still wasn't sure this was such a great idea and he also wasn't sure that just leaving was a great idea either. Tony was bound to get himself killed and regardless of what John thought of the boy that didn't mean he felt right about leaving him to his chosen fate. "Will do, Junior."

xXx

"We made good time," Caleb commented as he slowed the car down by the side of the road a block away from the arranged meeting spot. "And would you mind not jinxing us?"

"What?"

Caleb snickered and shook his head, shifting the jeep into park without shutting off the engine. "The hospital … greeting sign … it means nothing. You're just getting superstitious in your old age." Caleb hadn't really thought about it as they had entered the town but John had a point. When a town welcome sign had a hospital sitting directly behind it … it did leave a sense of foreboding in their line of work.

John opened his passenger door and stepped out, stretching his long legs for a moment before turning around, both his forearms leaning on the doorframe as he leaned back in. "I just call irony when I see it."

"Yeah? Well hows this for irony? You still have to walk a block … and it just started raining." Caleb gestured with his head to the slight drizzle falling on his windshield.

"Your idea to come here and somehow I end up being the one screwed … typical," John snorted and then became serious once more. "Keep alert, junior. I'll be watching."

"I'll be fine."

John gave him a stern look before shutting the jeep's passenger door. Caleb saluted him before putting the gears back in drive and pulling back out onto the road, leaving John in his rear-view mirror. The only sound now came from the tyres eating up the tarmac, the low tunes coming from the radio and Caleb's own thoughts running around in his head.

The figure of John Winchester got smaller and smaller with the more distance he put between them. The bar Tony had deemed appropriate for this meet was coming up on Caleb's left. It was a long plain brown building made up of two stories. The word 'PLAYMATES' was displayed in large letters across the front of the building. Parking spots were situated along the front of the bar on the roadside but Caleb turned down the street before instead, deciding to park around back to avoid any unwanted attention.

The psychic breathed in the fresh, damp air as he opened the jeep door. Evening had now hit in full force, giving everything around him a dreary appearance as the sky settled into night.

Making sure to lock the jeep, Caleb swung the keys around his finger a few times as he started towards the bar. The drizzle had stopped and Caleb smirked and decided he'd definitely be teasing John about that run of luck on their drive home.

Rounding the corner of the building and walking out onto the main street, Caleb scanned the immediate area. People were starting to turn up. Bikers and locals and all different types of people could be seen and Caleb knew not to take anything for granted in this situation. Tony might have suggested the place but he had also warned Caleb that his cult friend's fears weren't unfounded. He needed to keep his head in the game which wouldn't be all that hard with John Winchester looking over his shoulder.

Caleb shoved his keys into the pocket of his black leather jacket as he walked through the main entrance and into the smokey, dimly lit bar. Bad Company's "Bad Company" played loudly from the lone juke box against the left wall. Pool tables were visible from the back, railed off and separate from the small dance floor and tables and chairs. The bar itself was situated in the middle of the large, long room. Along the wall on the right side of the room was a long line of booths that reached all the way to the back.

Caleb's searching gaze found the exit sign which directed people to the bathrooms and the back door that Caleb assumed more than likely lead out to where he'd parked his jeep.

There were a decent amount of people already inside, enough that Caleb had to wait for two other people to be served before the bartender gave him any attention.

He ordered a beer from the frowning man behind the bar. Caleb frowned back as he picked up the bottle and ambled down to the very last booth in the back. It was empty so he slid into it, sliding along the wooden bench.

He took a large sip of beer, wondering where John was. He didn't look though. John would act like his paranoid self and satisfy that over-protectiveness that only seemed to rear its ugly head when Caleb didn't want it to … like now.

Shouts, laughter and general chatter filled the room, sweeping over Caleb's hearing. The tunes coming from the jukebox faded only seconds before a new song started playing … a different song.

_So close, no matter how far. Couldn't be much more from the heart. Forever trusting who we are and nothing else matters._

Caleb snorted at the irony of those words and the truth they held to the one person the song reminded him off the most. Deuce. In fact he could probably relate those words to all of them. His thoughts went to his best friend and wondered what the kid was doing right now, whether he was suffering at the hands of Sammy the great and his box of tricks.

Taking another pull from the bottle, Caleb tapped a finger on the wooden table to the beat of the music. Tony wasn't late but Caleb wasn't the most patient person in the world. Pulling the bottle away from his mouth, Caleb glanced down at the time on his watch.

Thirty minutes, two beers and one raincheck from a rather busty brunette later and Caleb was jolted from his very important task of peeling the label off the beer bottle.

Tony slipped into the booth on the opposite side to what Caleb was sitting on. "Hey man," he greeted.

"Nice of you to show," Caleb replied dryly, wiping the mess he'd made off the table like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have been.

"I almost didn't make it at all," Tony glanced around, suspiciously scanning the crowd. His usual gelled spikey hair was clean of any obvious hair products but then when trying to convince a cult that you wanted to be one of them you probably didn't have time to worry about your hair. "Besides, I'm not late." Tony looked at his watch and then nudged Caleb's foot under the table. "You're early."

Caleb sat up straighter. He might have endorsed the guy to everyone but that didn't mean he wasn't going to be careful, despite what John seemed to think. It was natural for Caleb to read others. Sometimes he didn't even realise he was doing it. "What do you mean you almost didn't make it? What happened?" Nothing seemed amiss. Tony seemed on edge but given the circumstances it wasn't all that strange.

Tony shrugged. "She was scared"

"Of what?" Caleb asked, knowing as soon as he said it that it had been a stupid question.

"Of the cult, Caleb. What part of human sacrificing cult didn't you get the first time I told you, it's like out of the freaking movies … or …" Tony clicked his fingers as he tried to think. "Or that episode of Starsky and Hutch."

"What?"

"Well actually there were two episodes that dealt with cults … it all ends the same in those shows. Someone ends up dead … well unless of course the good guys stop the bad guys …"

"Tony."

"What?"

"Focus," Caleb sighed, wearily, bring his hand up to rub at his head. A headache he assumed was caused by not enough sleep was starting to edge its way into his consciousness. When he'd first noticed it he'd worried for a split second that it was the beginnings of a vision. He'd soon discounted it. He knew the signs by now.

"Right …" Tony shook his head to clear it of his detour into the endless television and movie references that were at the tip of his tongue at any given circumstance. If he didn't know how dedicated to his work Tony was, Caleb might have thought the guy had entirely way too much time on his hands. Ironically enough it had also been just another aspect about the man's persona that Caleb had been able to connect with.

"So this girl, Susan or whatever her name is, she thinks they'd come after her?"

"Yeah and it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. That's why we have to be extra careful, man."

"And what are you going to do? Wait until the final showdown again? If you remember that didn't work all too well for you last time," Caleb reminded him with a sip of his drink. It was the one thing that was making him uneasy. He was confident of what he'd seen so far with Tony but this whole under cover gig didn't seem too planned. Or at least that's the way it would seem until Tony told Caleb what the hell was going on in his head.

"I have a plan."

"Enlighten me."

Tony glanced nervously around them again, as if worried that someone might see them together. Caleb fought the urge to look himself. "Not here. It's not safe." Tony smacked his hand lightly on the table. "Come on, finish your beer. We need to get out the back."

"Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a twist." Caleb grumbled, tossing back the remaining liquid in his bottle and then placed it back on the table in front of him. Tony was already standing, eager to move. To Caleb he looked a little fuzzy. He rubbed his eyes as he slide sideways on the seat, standing out of the booth the world tilted for all of two seconds causing his hip to bump into the table.

Tony looked back at him but Caleb shrugged it off. Apparently taking the wheel back from John earlier than they had agreed on hadn't been the smartest idea. He wasn't going to tell John that but maybe he'd get the older man to drive back. He wasn't exactly looking to wrap them around a tree on their way out of town. That would kind of defeat the purpose of him taking the girl in the first place.

"Well, come on. Let's move." Caleb waved his hand in the general direction of the back exit. He moved away from the table, leaving behind his empty bottle, its tattered label lying in shredded pieces on the floor beneath it.

Tony pushed open the door and walked outside. The sky had dimmed further in the half an hour he'd been inside but it was still light enough to see. Tony looked from left to right and then hopped down the steps with a spring in his step.

The wooden stairs creaked as Caleb followed Tony down onto the damp, soft grass. The evening air rushed over him, a complete contrast compared to the warm temperature from inside the bar. The fine hair on Caleb's arms stood to attention at the drastic change while his head spun for a moment, causing him to reach out and skim the railing with his hand.

"You okay, Reaves?"

Caleb focused on Tony's form, shadowed by the building and tried to shake the haziness away. "I'm fine. Where's your girl?"

"She's here."

Tony turned away from him and whistled like he was calling damn dog. Caleb half expected to see Scout bound up to them, tail wagging in excitement. Instead Scout's image in Caleb's mind faded, forming into a young woman. Caleb eyed her immediately, taking in the mess of blonde hair that was tied haphazardly at the back of her head, looking almost like she hadn't brushed it in days. She wrapped the too-large sand coloured cardigan around her body, keeping the evening chill away from her, the long cream dress she wore doing nothing to conserve heat. Caleb's eyes travelled down to her feet, moving silently in the white sneakers.

The woman was tiny and looked like she'd been through the wars. Caleb was sure that if a small gust of wind came along it would blow her away. Her bright blue eyes darted between Tony and Caleb, almost fast enough to have Caleb's dizziness increase.

"You said he'd come."

Tony held his arms out, his shoulders shrugging. "You doubted me?"

"I don't like to celebrate until I know for sure."

"Celebrate?" Caleb asked. His tongue felt thick and he knew that the effort to force out that one single word had been too much. Something wasn't just wrong with this whole situation, something was wrong with him.

Tony and Susan both turned at the slurred sound of his voice and Caleb thought he might have seen a quick flash of guilt before a satisfied smile rolled onto Tony's face. The two people in front of him became four and Caleb opened his eyes wider in an attempt to fix his distorted vision. "Wha's going on?"

Before Caleb could get his answer, or mentally fix his own problem of vertigo that was slowly climbing to the point of him ending up on his ass, the back entrance slammed open, making all three of them jump.

"Caleb!"

Susan gasped at the same time that Tony cursed and Caleb would know that voice anywhere. John wouldn't have come out of cover unless it was important and Caleb thought it was very fucking important to tell the Knight that he had fucked up somehow and that he didn't think he would be capable of driving them home if his deteriorating condition was anything to go by. Caleb turned drunkenly towards his mentor's voice, the change in his stance made him lurch to the side just as a white blast of light flashed in his eyes, burning his retina's seconds before the sound of a gunshot finally penetrated his brain. Pain sizzled nerves and caused a strangled cry to wrench from his mouth before he knew no more.

xXx

"Caleb!" John's heart raced to the point of exploding as he saw a small woman standing next to Michaels whip out a 9mm and pull the trigger. She flinched at the kick back and the sound that did more to interrupt the quiet night than John's voice had only seconds before.

It was like the whole thing had happened in slow motion and John didn't even remember having pulled his gun out from its hiding place. Somewhere from his revelation that Caleb was being set up to where he was standing now he had pulled the weapon out, feeling comfortable in his hands.

The gunshot was loud and Caleb's head snapping back before his long body folded to the ground allowed John's fast beating heart to finally beat its way all of the way out of his chest.

"Don't move." The obvious gun stuck into his side beat any action he'd been about to jump into. Caleb's name got stuck in his throat, rolling into a growl under his breath. His gun was torn out of his hand with quick precision and then whoever it was stood back out of John's reach.

John knew he was supposed to be paying attention to everything around him, demanding what Tony thought he was doing but his eyes wouldn't leave Caleb's lax form lying on the soft grass.

The kid wasn't moving.

**TBC …**

* * *

**A/N2:** Hey there. You still with me? If you are? Well **thanks** :) I appreciate it and I would love to hear what you thought. Reviews are as golden as John's praise ;) :P

I said my Mum wanted John hurt right? Well some of you should know me well enough by now that the opportunity to hurt my favourite psychic is too good to pass up. So John AND Caleb are in for a nasty ride ... well nasty for them anyway :P I am planning to post a chapter every 2 weeks (this time frame hopefully something I can stick too) So if you want more? Stay Tuned ... same bat time, same bat channel ...

**Tara x0x**


	2. Trading Places

**A/N1:** Hey guys. Man this month is busy for me.

So far since my last post I have gotten past my brother's 23rd birthday, my Step-Brother's 11th birthday and meeting Michael Shanks aka Doctor Daniel Jackson from Stargate SG-1 (and where my penname comes from)

For those of you that want to hear about the experience and see photos? I'll post the link at the end of this chapter.

Now with my 25th birthday less than a week away, I hope to be (or at least _feel) _a little more free.

Big thanks goes out to **Angelustatt**, who read this over and over and I want to dedicate this whole chapter to my mother who this story is dedicated to. This is for you, **Mum.**

* * *

**Chapter 2. Trading Places.**

The dark was suffocating, adding fire to the headache pounding through his brain. John blinked his eyes open, before squeezing them shut again when the lump on the back of his head connected with the hard floor beneath him.

He was moving, or at least he was being moved just like the last time consciousness had claimed him for a fleeting moment. The darkness surrounding him wasn't an abyss although it could lead you to believe it was. It was a tight space that had John's body contorted into a foetal position.

With his arms tightly bound behind him with what felt like harsh rope, John's shoulders felt on fire and exploded over every bump and rocking motion he was forced to endure.

He was trapped in the trunk of a small car; that much was obvious by the sound of the engine and the familiar sound of tyres eating up tarmac. All were sounds he was accustomed with … just not too often from the trunk of a car.

The Knight tried to swallow, his mouth dry due to the material his captors had used as a gag. He hadn't made a sound, hadn't screamed for them to let him go because it would do no good. No, silence was his best bet right now. He knew his chances were slim to none but that didn't mean that he wouldn't try a surprise attack as soon as that damn trunk opened.

This was all of his fault. He had gone along with Caleb to make sure the psychic didn't get in trouble. He'd had a bad feeling about this whole thing and yet he hadn't prevented anything. He hadn't gotten there in time to save Caleb from taking a bullet … to the head of all places.

He could still see the kid's head snap back before he crumbled to the ground, seemingly lifeless. There had been blood but head wounds bled a lot. Caleb hadn't fucking moved … but that didn't mean anything. He couldn't allow himself to believe Caleb was dead.

He should have stopped this. He should have been more on guard. He should have noticed something was off sooner than he had. He should have done _something_.

The image of Caleb's still and silent body wouldn't leave his mind in the dark of the trunk.

The darkness gave him no escape and his heart ached along with his head. He would never be able to look Mac in the face again and Dean … having his eldest son looking at him with such pain and heartache and … blame would finish him off. Dean would never forgive him. He wouldn't forgive _himself_.

A nasty dip in the road rocked him so hard that John's body hit the roof of the trunk before slamming down quickly. A grunt escaped him.

He couldn't tell how long they had been travelling, how long it had been since Caleb had taken the hit, how long it had been since he had fucked up and ended up a prisoner to someone who was supposed to be on their fucking side.

He'd taken the hit to his head from his own weapon not long after the attack and since then the inside of the trunk was the only thing he knew. He was sore, tired, and fucking pissed with Tony Michaels … and himself.

The car stopped and John found himself holding his breath for a moment. He'd been distracting himself with plans of what he intended to do in this moment and now that it was actually here? He was hoping that he'd actually be able to follow through with those plans after being cooped up for this long.

The engine was killed and John tensed at the sound of car doors opening. Letting out the breath he had collected through his nose, John waited - that was all he could do - his muscles coiled in anticipation.

The trunk lid popped open and John tried to move, handicapped in the small space. His head connected with the side and he growled through the gag as hands reached in and dragged him out, callously smacking his head against the side again in the process.

Pain spiked in his head and then thrummed as he was placed on his feet. His knees buckled and he would have ended up with a mouthful of gravel had he not been held up on either side … or had a wad of material already shoved in his mouth.

"Whmmmgnnn!!" John yelled, jerking in his captors grasp, once again mentally kicking himself for getting in this situation in the first place.

"Calm down, Mr. Winchester."

The voice was familiar and suddenly Tony's face shimmered in front of him, the two figures flickering into one in front of his eyes. Fuck being calm.

Tony was shoved out of his field of vision only to be replaced by an older – much, much older - robed man. His grey eyes were hard, looking at John with distain, like it was a necessary evil to be dealing with him. Well that was just fucking fine with John because he didn't want to be dealing with any of them from this angle either.

"This isn't the one you promised, my son." The old guy turned his attention to Tony. John frowned, trying to gather any information he could.

"I know … I'm sorry, Father," Tony held his hands out in front of him in a placating manner.

The old guy huffed in annoyance … or disappointment. John couldn't really tell. He eyed John one more time before turning, his grey robe flowing as he did so. "Lock him up. We'll discuss this when you're finished."

John tripped over his feet as he was dragged forward without any concern for him, not that he had expected any. "Tnmm!" He growled through the gag once more, trying to get Tony's attention and failing.

It was the dead of night now – or early morning – John couldn't be sure but he tried to see as much as he could despite the dark starless sky. He didn't recognise anything and judging by the amount of time he had spent in the trunk? They had most likely left St Albans.

The building they were approaching looked like a farmhouse. There was nothing suspicious, nothing that screamed 'insane cult residing within'. He was dragged up the steps and through a dark room. Halfway across the room a light switch was flipped and a yellow-tinged light swarmed the room, making John blink in his retina's defence.

In front of him Tony led them through a kitchen and into what looked like some kind of laundry before coming to a stop in front of a door. John struggled, planting his feet on the floor to try and prevent them from forcing him any further. It was fruitless, he knew, but it was instinctive.

The door creaked open, hinges needing a serious oiling, and Tony stepped aside. His hazel gaze met John's own one and John demanded with a single glare to be told what the fuck was going on and to be let go.

Tony looked down and away after only a second and John was sure he saw guilt in there, maybe even a second of indecision. But it hadn't lasted long before he felt himself pushed forward through the door. His feet tangled, not ready for the dip of the stairs and he tumbled. He ducked and rolled and cried out as he descended down the stairs in a tangled heap.

The sound of snapping bone registered for John before the sharp pain hit him. He cried out as his arm broke and wasn't given any relief as it slammed into another step, snapping the bone back into place before he finally rolled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

He laid there gasping around the gag, panting, his eyes tightly shut at the bright sparks of pain in his head. He shorted out for a moment, seconds, hours … he wasn't sure. His head was spinning with no control to put the brakes on.

"What the hell was that?"

Hurried footsteps followed the angry voice and John found himself silently begging not to be touched. Nausea was swirling in the pit of his stomach, rising to a crescendo in his chest. It sat there, heavy and foreboding, like it was threatening him with the possibility of an escape. Something that John knew would be very bad with the material gag still in place.

The sensations rolling over his body like waves almost allowed him to forget about the angry voice, about the footsteps, about the fact that he was with anyone at all. He was rudely reminded when a pair of hands clutched his shoulder, jostling the broken arm.

John screamed.

xXx

"How you doing?"

John cringed and tried to roll away from the probing hands. It was a stupid move. Fire raced up his arm. He clenched his teeth against the pain and the need to loudly express _that_ pain. That was when he noticed the gag had been removed. Swallowing thickly, John still had that cottony after-taste in his mouth.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Tony's voice was hovering right over him as John let his body relax back on the cold hard ground. He opened his eyes to be greeted with the blurry vision of Tony's head in his face. "Get off," he demanded gruffly, trying to wave the younger man away.

"Sorry about the flight down the stairs. I wasn't expecting them to do that."

"Where's Caleb?"

"Caleb?"

"Yeah," John forced out. "You know? The guy you _shot_!" His anger-forced words ended in a low groan as his body vibrated with anger, guilt and fear at the memory. The break in his arm didn't appreciate any movement whatsoever.

"I didn't shoot him."

"Semantics, you son of a bitch."

Tony sighed and sat back on his haunches. He rubbed a hand through his hair, making it look a little more like it usually did. "That wasn't supposed to happen. Susan … she panicked when she heard you. She was never supposed to shoot him. The drugs were already taking effect."

"What drugs?"

"A little cocktail made by the _family_ … we just needed him subdued, damn it. But he just had to go and bring someone else with him," Tony said shaking his head regretfully. John knew where Tony could shove his fucking regret.

"Where is he?"

"You don't know?" Tony considered John before continuing. "I guess you are missing a big chunk of the events. He's … He's dead. We took you and left."

John felt like he had been sucker punched at having Tony confirm his fears. This was his fault. Caleb was dead because he hadn't been good enough. "You just left him there?"

Tony's eyes bulged. He obviously thought John was nuts, like he should know something that he was obviously missing. "We're at a critical point in our plans. We couldn't risk being caught and that gunshot would have brought attention fast. I'm sure you'll understand when you learn what I have, Mr. Winchester."

John rolled his eyes away from Tony, trying to ignore the slight tremble running through him. He needed to get out of here. And with the image of Caleb lying dead on the grass firmly planted in his mind he knew he would be taking no fucking prisoners.

Tightly closing his eyes, John groaned loud and long, shuddering more. As soon as he felt Tony lean closer again, John lashed out with his good arm. His fingers were closing around the younger man's throat before either of them registered that John had attacked at all.

Tony's hands grabbed at John's wrist in an attempt to dislodge him, but John just squeezed harder as he forced his body up off the ground until he was standing, albeit mainly because of his hold on Michaels. John growled, sounding more like a vicious animal than an injured hunter and pushed and squeezed until Tony was pressed up against the basement stairs.

"Joghh…" Tony's mouth gaped open, trying fruitlessly to suck in air that John wasn't allowing through.

"Shut up!" John hissed. "Just shut your fucking mouth." He didn't want to hear it. Whatever the fuck Tony was playing at? It had ended with Caleb on the wrong end of a bullet … dead. John couldn't deal with what that meant. Tony was lucky his head hadn't been ripped clean off on principal alone. "You're lucky I don't just snap your neck." He'd betrayed their trust, betrayed Caleb's trust, betrayed Jim's. It was unforgivable. And right now John didn't even care why.

John held on – just barely – until he saw Tony's eyes roll back in his head and his struggle become non-existent. The younger man's body hit the ground with a dull thud and John staggered, leaning against the stairs for support.

His eyes stayed closed for a long time as he sort just to breathe and just held his arm close and tight against his side. It had been a while since he'd actually broken a bone and he had almost forgotten how much it hurt, how relentless the wound could throb.

"Okay, Winchester … move it," John muttered to himself. If he had thought he was capable of getting up fast enough he would have at least checked to make sure that he hadn't killed Michaels. But escape was definitely higher on his to-do list.

John's gaze travelled up the stairs. They weren't particularly long or steep. It was the way they constantly moved and swayed out of focus that was daunting.

Using his good arm, John pulled himself around to the base of the stairs, stepping over Tony's sprawled legs in the process. He didn't hesitate, despite the challenge his fuzzy head presented. He began climbing the stairs, relying heavily on the railing he was holding with a death grip.

A painful jolt hit him at every step, making him feel like his arm was on fire but as the door to his salvation got closer, the pain seemed all the more worth it.

John was panting by the time he reached the top. He swayed into the door frame, leaning his good arm against it to catch his breath. Bruised or cracked ribs from his earlier descent down the stairs were only just starting to voice their opinion on all his movement. He only gave them a few seconds respite before he pushed forward again, damaged arm pressed to his torso in an attempt to keep it as still as possible.

John lurched into the kitchen, his eyes scanning the room and landing on the pot on the stove, next to it on the red bench was a white chopping board and a large carving knife. Soon it was in his hand, his fingers flexing around it in comfort.

"What are you planning on doing with that, my son?"

John whipped around, knife automatically held between him and the new threat. The old man from outside was standing in the kitchen, whole body covered with flowing grey rope, hands clasped together in front of him but covered with the extra long sleeves. He looked like a tall grey monk. A chain hung from his neck and rested against the grey folds of the robe. It looked like a cross but John wasn't willing to get close enough to look.

"Thinking about jamming this down your throat if you don't get out of my way," John answered truthfully. He was in no mood to beat around the bush.

"That would be a mistake, my son."

"No … it's sounding more and more like a plan … and stop calling me _my son_!" John barked, angrily. He tensed when two other men – one around his own age and one probably not much older than Dean – came up from behind the ancient monk.

"I'm afraid we can not let you leave before you fulfil your purpose."

"My purpose?" John didn't need to be Einstein to know that any purpose they had tried to employ Caleb for did not bode well for him.

"Father Brown, you wish us …"

An elderly hand raised was enough to silence the younger man behind him and John thought for a split second about just charging, slicing and making the most of what he had going for him … that was until a few more cult members appeared behind their leader, coming to see what the commotion was about and stacking the odds against John.

"Put down the knife."

"I don't think so, Grandpa. How about you step aside before one of these kids gets hurt?" John suggested, indicating the group crowding around the doorway, most of them young men.

"You can not harm us. You can not escape from this path."

John snorted. "That's what you think, old man. I aint going down without a fight." John Winchester never gave up. It was what had gotten him through Nam, the loss of his wife, hunting and fatherhood. "I _am_ leaving here."

"I'm sorry, I can't allow that." With a barely noticeable flick of the old man's hand, the knife John had been holding flew from his grip, making John startle as it was embedded in the wall. "Deal with him, my children."

The rush of bodies that came at John after that command came too fast and too many to do anything but prepare himself for the collision. John blocked the first fist that came flying his way but with only one decent working arm, it was impossible to totally miss the next one as it clipped him across the chin. Blood welled in his mouth, the metallic taste familiar. The pain of his self bitten tongue didn't even register as he ducked the next wild swing, kicking out and hitting one guy in the solar plexus, sending him crashing into two more.

Pain blossomed from the lump on the back of his head and spread with a wetness as skin was broken. John's knees buckled and he cried out involuntarily as his broken arm was kicked and kicked hard, forcing him to fall on his side.

The air was rushed from his lungs, violently evacuated as a sickening crack could be heard. If his ribs hadn't been broken before? At least one was now. And then another, and then another. Loud puffs of air escaped through his mouth and John struggled to breathe in while the air rushed out of him.

"_Stop!"_

John's arm was wrenched back, bones grinding together and John's scream was animalistic. Cold metal encased his wrists, binding them together but John didn't care about anything else around him now other than the continuous stabbing where the bones where being jostled together. Tears made his eyes wet but he clenched them shut. He wasn't fucking crying not matter how bad it hurt. He'd gone through worse. Mary's death … God, Caleb …

"_Stop, you're gonna kill him!"_

The voice sounded like it was in a vacuum … or under water but it made John want to laugh. Wasn't that the plan? Wasn't that what he was here for? A human fucking sacrifice? Right in that moment, he wished they'd just fucking do it. It was the last thought he had before a brown blur came rushing at his face. He welcomed the darkness.

xXx

It was dark. That was the first thing that John noticed upon consciousness. It was dark enough that for a second or two he was sure the beating he'd taken - the kick to the head - had blinded him. The small amount of light coming from under the door at the top of the stairs told him otherwise.

He might not have been blind but he still couldn't see worth a god damn. The artificial light sneaking in from under the door was doing nothing to illuminate the room.

Rolling onto his side, it was immediately apparent that his situation had not improved. He groaned, louder than he wanted to as broken bones shifted with the rolling motion of his body. He stopped, on his side, panting for breath against the relentless stabbing pain in numerous parts of his body.

John pulled at the handcuffs encircling his wrists even though he knew it was fruitless. It was just ingrained in him to fight. He'd never been the type of guy to sit back and let other things dictate his fate. John Winchester was a ruler of his own destiny. Or at least he thought so.

His legs weren't bound together like his wrists were. He shifted, wincing in the dark as his right leg moved forward. Freedom … for one leg. The other leg had no such luck. His left ankle was encased in something heavy and cold. It restricted any further movement.

John huffed in frustration. It was hard not to try to curl up into himself even though he knew that he couldn't curl up the way he wanted. His arms kept trying to move forward in an automatic reaction to the pain … the ache he felt all over.

John jumped when the basement door suddenly opened, spilling a yellowish light down the stars, partly filling the basement itself. John squinted, recoiling from the light as his eyes adjusted.

"You're awake."

"Michaels," John growled, recognising the younger man's voice before he could see who it was.

"I was starting to worry that you weren't going to wake up at all." Tony stepped down the remaining stairs, the wood creaking under his weight. "I guess the fact that you remember who I am? Is a good sign that you weren't hit too hard …" Tony paused, tilting his head to the side in thought. "…or too _many_ times."

"Now that I know you care I feel so much better." John's tone was dry and it took every ounce of remaining strength in him to not let it waver, to not let it break under the pain that was attacking his body from all sides. He'd had worse, sure. He could still breathe on his own and he wasn't gushing blood … that he knew of. He wasn't on the outside anyway. He was still licking wounds that had more to do with the fact that he had been taken out by a flight down some stairs than the pain of the injuries themselves.

"I do care actually."

John did his best not to splutter and failed. "You care? Like you cared when your girlfriend put a bullet in Caleb's head?"

"I've told you … that was an accident." Tony stepped forward but this time kept right out of John's reach. "I never wanted the guy to get hurt."

"And joining the cult you have been gunning for all these years and planning to offer him up on a silver platter is what? Your way of saying let's be friends?"

"I was doing him a favour."

"Hows that?" John grunted, unable to prevent the shudder from rippling through his muscles. It was costing him to ignore the burn in his wounds but he was starting to believe that the pain those wounds were giving was a lot easier to deal with than the constant broken record of words in his head reminded him that Caleb was dead.

Tony's eyes brightened at the question and he knelt on the floor before John and seemed to forget about the distance he'd been so keen on before. It wasn't like John was in any condition or even remotely able to make another escape attempt anyway.

"That's the awesome part about all this, Mr. Winchester." Tony put down the bowl and cup that John hadn't even realised the man had been holding and reached forward, a hand on both of John's shoulders each and eased the injured hunter's upper body up and off the cold ground.

John's eyes immediately snapped shut and he bit his bottom lip until he tasted blood. Bones shifting and moving in a way that they were never meant to, no longer allowed him to ignore them. His arm was on fire and his broken ribs sucked all remaining oxygen away.

"Whoa there, big guy," Tony said, his strong grip on either side of him kept John upright, kept him from curling in on himself and John – for a moment – saw stars behind tightly shut eyelids.

"You're not gonna hurl are you?" Tony asked, still holding onto John's shoulders.

"Le…Let g-go…" John forced out, his words forming into a groan when Tony seemed to take that as an invitation to tighten his grip. He wanted space and he wanted it now. John hated to be crowded when he was hurt but that wasn't his most dire need right now.

"Seriously Sir, if you hurl, I'll have to clean it up. I'm still at the bottom here."

If John hadn't been so tightly coiled he would have given the kid a death glare. He was known for them and they had been known to put fear in the heart of many man … but all he could do was tightly hold himself together while Tony's tight grip on his right shoulder wiped all thought, making it hard to articulate what he needed.

"Mr. Winchester?"

"God … Let me … go!" John growled, his whole being shaking. A bead of sweat ran from his hair line and down his cheek. His vision behind closed lids turning white.

Something must have clicked for the younger man because he removed his hand from John's right shoulder like it had been burned. The pressure was gone from the appendage but the fire remained a few long agonising seconds later before it started sizzling until his was just hot throb.

John slumped back – finding a hard steady wall there – and breathed rapidly. He was going to be sick. He was going to be sick and he really didn't want to. Enough weakness had been shown on his part already. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat, his Adams apple bobbing as he tried to keep his stomach contents where they were and not all over himself or the floor.

"Oh geez, I'm sorry. I didn't …"

"Shut … u-up…" He didn't want to hear it.

"I would strap that for you but you need to be clean of anything foreign."

John blinked his eyes opened, finding them watery and blurred. He refrained from asking what the fuck that had meant. "…'the fuck do y'want?"

"Father Brown – our leader – was pissed as hell when he found out we didn't have Caleb but he has decided that you will more than do in his place."

John's frown deepened. "His … place? You're … you're talking 'bout a s-sacrifice?" Human sacrifice … that's what this cult did according to all of Tony's research. This was the first time they had come close to being caught and here they were two supposed hunters, one working for the cult and the other about to become said sacrifice. "Why?"

"Why? I needed to prove …"

"No!" John snapped, gritting his teeth as the force of the word shook him. "Why a..re you doing this?" That was what John couldn't understand. "Why are y-you working … with t..them?"

John tried hard to keep himself from trembling, the cuffs biting into his wrists, keeping his broken bone at an awkward angle.

Tony's face was serious, head tilted slightly to the side and John felt even more unsettled when a slow smirk formed on Tony's face. "I guess you could say I was shown the light … as cliché as that sounds."

"And … what light would t-that … be?" John stuttered, keeping his eyes locked on Tony's even though he desperately wanted to squeeze them shut as the pain continued to radiate through him. He had a feeling Tony's answer wouldn't make him feel much better.

"That this world needs saving and the hunters aren't doing what needs to be done."

**TBC …**

* * *

**A/N2:** *ducks and hides for cover* I know, I know I am a bad person leaving you with that, with no answer on Caleb or what Tony means by his last sentence … but you guys know me by now right? Caleb will feature heavily in the next chapter and the road is definitely not going to be easy for him either … mwahhaha the joys of writing :)

If you're still with me? Then I hope you are enjoying :)

For anyone who wanted my thoughts on my meeting with the gorgeous Michael Shanks? Here is the link -

http : / / lovinjackson . livejournal . com / 42012 . html # cutid1 (spaced out so FanFic will allow it. Join it up ;) hehe)

It is complete with photos (both Professional and ones I took during his Q&A)

Have a good one people!!

Tara x0x


	3. In The Dark

**A/N-1: **Hey Guys

Okay, so this is later than I wanted to be able to post this. Real Life really is taking control lately. It's a juggling act that I am still learning. Thanks goes out to **Angelustatt**, who really is a godsend when it comes to keeping my muse flowing and thanks again goes out to my **mother** who helps me go through this and pick out mistakes and whatnot. Any still in here are all my own ;) I want to thank those of you have been patiently waiting for this and those of you who are waiting on other things I need to do. Thanks guys.

More to come in **A/N-2** at the end of this chapter …

* * *

**Chapter 3. In The Dark**

"_How's he doing?"_

"_He mumbled something before."_

"_What'd he say?"_

"_How am I supposed to know what he said? I don't speak mumble."_

"_You haven't heard yourself in your sleep. There's a reason I never share a tent with you on a hunt if I can help it. So you think he's waking?"_

"_Maybe. I don't know. Ask his Daddy when he comes back in. He's the one that has been monitoring him like a damn hawk."_

"D…"

Caleb knew the voices around him, recognised the names swirling around with the voices but what he couldn't do was open his eyes or formulate what he wanted to say. His head hurt, it was thumping in time with his heart beat and he was sure that if he looked into a mirror it would be twice his normal size.

"Damien?" There was a hand on his arm, the skin warm and familiar. "'bout time you woke up."

"Wh…" The smells, the feel of the sheets … Caleb was uncomfortable and confused. The psychic moved his arms, resting one arm across his stomach; the other flopped clumsily back to the place it had been settled in. He wasn't restrained but it didn't make him feel any better. His mind was heavy and held nothing but holes, big black holes. His stomach held nothing but the need to purge itself of its contents.

"You've been worrying your best buddy here with this silent act, Junior. Not to mention your old man has been beside himself - which isn't good for any of us…"

"Shut up, Bobby," Dean snapped as Caleb could feel the hand on his arm tighten its grip in a comforting squeeze.

Deuce was with him. It calmed him somewhat. Bobby was there too and Mac had apparently been hovering. "J'nny?" The need to know where John was seemed important, if the pit mixing with the nausea in his stomach was anything to go by.

"Jenny?" The mechanic questioned. "Open your eyes and you'll see there aint no girls in here. Not a hot nurse in sight in this hospital. Sorry to disappoint 'n' all," Bobby ended sarcastically.

"N…No…" Caleb shook his head, mentally cursing his lack of ability in getting his mouth around the words he needed. The motion also made his head feel like it was going to explode, pounding right off his neck.

Groaning, Caleb let his head roll to the side. Something soft was covering the left side of his head but it was the itch underneath that brought Caleb's hand to it.

"Leave it alone, Dude." Dean's hand moved up to lightly take hold of his wrist, stopping it from reaching its target. "Bobby, you want to go and get Mac? He'll want to know Damien is awake."

"No need." _Mac._ The name sent a surge through him at the sound of his father's voice. He wanted to see him. The older psychic's footsteps could be heard crossing the floor, his shoes loud against the typical linoleum floor that he associated with most hospital rooms, just cementing the knowledge that something was very wrong.

"Kid woke up a few minutes ago."

"Dad?" Caleb licked his lips, trying to bring moisture there. He frowned and shifted, despite his sluggish mind and the pain in his head, Caleb's body was thrumming with need, the need to do something although he had no idea what. It was confusing as the contrasts meshed together.

"How're you feeling, son?"

Mac's presence replaced Bobby's beside him and no offence to the grizzly hunter but it sent a measure of calm through him that only his father could give him.

"Damien?"

Right. He was supposed to answer. Dean sounded anxious. He licked his lips again and turned his head to the other side in the direction he knew Mac was standing, causing his head to roll right off his fucking shoulders for certain this time. The sound emitted from his throat without his consent was low and pitiful and apparently a sign for Mac to place his hand on Caleb's brow. His hand felt cool against his skin. "I feel … I feel like Deuce used my head f'batting p-pratice…where's J..John?"

Caleb's forehead creased at the silence that followed his question.

"What do you remember, son?"

That was the million dollar question. The answer was hidden behind those black holes but would he be able to retrieve them without getting ripped apart and sucked through them? "I uhh … s'hurts." Thinking hurt. It wasn't just a saying anymore, it wasn't just a smartass remark from a certain teenage friend … it really did fucking hurt.

"A bullet to the head will do that to ya."

Mac sighed, sounding more like a tired grumble. "Bobby."

"Bullet?" He'd been shot? One would think one would remember something like that.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Wha'?" Had Bobby been shot in the head? But then why the hell did _his_ head feel like it was going to topple off at any moment?

"What are you doing?" Mac asked and for a moment Caleb thought his father was talking to him and was about to answer when he was interrupted by Bobby.

"What? That's what doctors ask with head wounds right?"

"How about you leave the doctoring up to me?"

"You're the one with the letters after your name."

"They've been like this since we found you," Dean supplied, his hand not leaving the psychic's wrist. Did he know that Caleb needed that connection right now? Or did he just need that girly connection himself? For whatever reason Caleb was grateful.

"Found me?"

There was another second of silence. It might not have seemed like much to the average person but Caleb wasn't the average person and he didn't belong to your average family. Silence, even seconds of it could mean anything and it was rarely good in a situation when your memory failed you.

"He doesn't remember," Dean said but this time Caleb knew his friend wasn't talking to him.

"Its okay, Dean, he took quite a blow. Memory loss is expected. It will come back to him." Mac wasn't saying something. Caleb didn't need to be completely coherent to understand that they were starting to dance around something important. "Son, how's the pain on a scale from of one to ten?"

"And no bullshitting, Junior. Your face is one big fucking lie detector right now."

At Bobby's warning, Caleb caved. Lying wasn't going to help him because they wouldn't believe him anyway. "Eleven," he croaked.

"Okay, good, Caleb. We'll see if we can do something about that."

"If y'say so," Caleb mumbled. Why did doctors always say 'good' when you told them how high on the scale your pain was. As far as Caleb was concerned it wasn't good at all.

Caleb, bit his lip as his father touched his face but let him do the check he knew Mac wouldn't be happy until he'd done. His father's practiced hand hovered over his face.

Tension built in Mac's fingertips. "Dad?" Mac's fingers left his face and he remained quiet again. Silence was becoming a new pet peeve. "Dad? What is it?"

"Mac?" Dean's voice mirrored his own.

"Caleb? What do you see?" Mac asked cautiously.

"You mean beside the back of my eyelids?" Light after a nasty concussion was something he had been putting off for as long as possible. He could feel his family around him and that had been enough.

"Mac?" Dean repeated his one-worded question.

"Dean, you want to go and make sure your brother didn't buy the whole vending machine?" Bobby asked, sounding serious for the first time since Caleb had blasted through the pain and pressure in his head.

For some reason the pain the light would surely bring to the headache thrumming behind his eyes wasn't even a consideration. Caleb blinked, realising something for the very first time. His eyes weren't closed. Sensations that had been clouded by the pounding and confusion were making themselves known … the room's air brushing against his eyes.

Panic seized him and he wrenched his wrist out of his friend's hand and brought it up to his face. His lashes fluttered against his palm, opening and shutting at will but making no difference to the blackness in front of him.

His eyes had been open and he hadn't even realised.

His chest locked up and he rubbed at his eyes almost frantically, ignoring the sparks that flew in the darkness that surrounded him, matching the black holes in his memory. His favourite colour had always been black and yet suddenly now he was fucking terrified of what it meant.

He felt both Dean and Mac grab a hand each and pull them away from his face. The struggle was instinctive in his limbs despite the trust he held for the two people on either side of him. He pulled at them, his mind irrationally stuck on the idea that if he rubbed his eyes enough that he could wipe the black away.

"Dad?" his voice wavered, bordering on hysteria as his stomach somersaulted.

"Its okay, Caleb," Mac tried to soothe.

"No. No it's not okay," Caleb disagreed strongly. "Wh-What's going on?" he demanded, his eyes darting around wildly, searching, and desperately needing to catch anything, even a tiny ray of light in the all consuming darkness he was shrouded in. "Why cant I see?"

xXx

All sense of time was lost in the dark. John wasn't even sure how long it had been since Tony had been down there with him, sprouting his 'save the world from evil' crap. He didn't know how long it had been since he'd been thrown down into the dark basement and he didn't know how long it had been since Caleb had been …

He needed to get out of here. Of course that was easier said than done considering every time he moved he lost the ability to breathe or think. Tony had kept apologising and John just stopped acknowledging him. He hurt too much and it was like talking to a brick wall. There was no getting through to the kid.

Tony believed what he was preaching … because Tony was _made_ to believe it. John had seen that look before. It explained a lot. Jim had ordered Tony not to go in alone, afraid that he would lose his life. Instead they had taken him and brainwashed him … and with Caleb gone and his body begging him to let it shut down? John wasn't really inclined to care.

Biting his lip, John flexed his fingers. He had a plan. It wasn't much of one but it was better than sitting around and waiting for them to use his blood in a ritual to conjure God's help in the fight against evil.

It was insane. John wasn't exactly under the impression there was a God, despite one of his best friends being a priest; and in the case that he was wrong? John seriously doubted he cared enough to come down and help. John had been fighting the fight against evil for a long time. Human's were on their own.

John gasped but continued his movements, needing to force his fingers to reach inside the back pocket of his jeans. There was small notebook there but more importantly? A paperclip kept some of the pages attached. The damn pieces of stationary should be mandatory for hunters. You never knew when you were going to be in the position to need them.

The edges of the notebook brushed against his fingertips and motivated him further. If he could just get that damn paperclip between his fingers he could possibly have a chance at trying to get out of the damn basement.

John huffed, his trembling fingers closing on the paperclip. It was a start.

It took him longer than he would have liked, a lot longer than it would have normally but when the handcuff's clicked open, John let go of the breath that he hadn't realise he'd been holding.

He whimpered, clenching his jaw immediately after. The pain in his arm was instantaneous but he hadn't been able to stop himself from moving it forward the moment it was free. He shifted, getting his good arm under him and pushed himself up. He was cold. He paused, sitting hunched over, shaking and trying really hard not to throw up as his throat convulsed.

It didn't last long but when his stomach had finally settled, John felt dizzy and weak. It was a feeling he hated with a passion and just made him all the more determined to move, despite the knifing sensation in his broken arm.

"I'm Impressed."

John's head shot up and his eyes widened in shock at the other voice in the room, a room that until that moment he had thought had been totally empty. How had he not sensed that someone else was in the room?

"I've seen many people succumb to less."

John scanned the room around him, edging his body back slowly, feeling safer if the wall was behind him. It was so dark that it was almost impossible to see his own hand, let alone someone else. "Who's there?" He had no weapon, his head was spinning and he couldn't judge just where the voice was coming from. "Answer me … or are you too gutless to show yourself?"

The laughter he received in return for his efforts chilled John to the bone, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, goosebumps rising on his bare lower arms.

Sometime between the last time he had succumbed to unconscious and coming to? He had lost his over-shirt and shoes and socks. The wall at his back did little to make him feel less vulnerable but it was all he had. "Laughter? That's all you got?"

"I can taste your fear, Johnathan Winchester."

"I'm not the one hiding from an injured man … in the dark," John countered, not sure which he felt the need to press his hand against the most, his ribs or his arm. There didn't seem to be any relief anywhere. Instead he settled for wiping the sweat from his head.

"You can not fool me." The tone held an air of arrogance to it. "Fear … it's the path to the dark side, you know?"

John's heart panged for a second. He heard Caleb's voice in his head; saw him and Dean in his head throwing Star Wars quotes back and forth at the most inopportune time. It was their way and now because of him, Dean had lost that comfort, Sam too. They all had.

John's eyes hardened as Caleb's voice faded into the dark of the basement. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions … heard that one?" Whatever this cult thought they were doing, whatever their motives. It was all just ending in blood.

John couldn't prevent what had already happened but he had one thing that had served him well the last thirteen years and it was going to get him through this too … and he would do the only thing he could do for Caleb now. He would set things right and stop this sacrifice bullshit from going any further.

"The road to hell has been paved by demonic creatures and evil sinners, John. I'm sure my followers – I'm sure Tony explained our plans to you."

That answered one question. He was talking to the man in the robe he had met upstairs – Father Brown or whatever the fuck they had called him. "Oh he explained alright," John answered, holding his broken arm against his body as he pressed his other hand against the gritty, concrete wall, looking for purchase. "He explained how you and your followers have taken it upon yourselves to save the world from evil, sacrificing poor innocent sons of bitches in a fruitless attempt to call for help that's not coming."

"You're a non-believer, Johnathan? I find that interesting considering your profession."

"Yeah? Well? I_ find _that I don't really give a crap what you think." John gritted his teeth, pressing his lips together in a fine almost white line and pushed against the wall with his hands. The muscles in his legs pulled taut under the strain. "How'd …. H-How'd you … get them t-to follow your crazy ass plan? Drugs? Spells?"

Father Brown laughed again, followed by the swish sound of a match lighting. John blinked a couple of times as an old oil lantern was lit, illuminating the room enough for John's gaze to take in a figure shrouded in robes, a large hood covered most of his face. "That all depends."

"Depends on what?" John asked almost absentmindedly. He was up, he was standing and now what the fuck was he going to do? It wasn't a sure thing that he would make it from the wall to the stairs without any support and he certainly wouldn't move fast enough to escape. "Well?" John locked his eyes on Brown as the guy reached up and lowered his hood.

"Sometimes you just need to give a little support, a little security … a place that gives some meaning. A lot of my loyal followers came looking for salvation, for a place they could belong. The chance to do good in the world is sometimes inviting enough."

"And Tony?" John seriously doubted the kid had joined this group willingly.

Father Brown rubbed at his chin with a knowing smile before pointing a finger at John "Sometimes people need a little convincing."

"I can't … imagine why …" John looked towards the stairs, to the door, silently wishing an easy solution would present itself.

"Is that sarcasm, I hear? You're mocking our _mission_?"

"Have you … have you actually heard your plan?"

"That depends …"

"On?"

"On what plan you are talking about."

That got John's attention. "What _are_ you talking about?" Brown stepped forward and suddenly John felt lighter, like it wasn't taking him all his effort to keep standing. He looked down and found nothing out of the ordinary and went to move his hand to his injured ribs … he couldn't move. "What have you done?" John demanded.

"I want your full attention and I find it refreshing to be able to hone my abilities. It is why Tony was such a blessing to our family."

John remembered now, upstairs before the cult had advanced on him, He'd been stuck, held by an invisible force. That had been the old dude? "You're a psychic."

"I hold … certain abilities, powers … but alas not so powerful that I can hide from an inevitable end."

John eyed Brown as the man moved forward, more freely now that John couldn't move a muscle, on the upside? It made his injuries ease up. "Why do I get the sense that you're even more evil than I originally thought?"

"Not evil, Johnathan, just a love for life. I'm not ready to see an end to it, yet."

"That's what the sacrifices are for?"

Brown moved closer, raising a hand to pat John's cheek. "You're as smart as your reputation leads one to assume," the old man said. "Years of research and I finally found what I needed, something that would keep me in the land of the living. It's simple really. No rituals, no blood sacrifices … pure science, a steady hand and there you have it … eternal life."

"No rituals, huh? No blood sacrifices? I would say your victims would say differently … if they weren't dead."

"You are right. Those aren't necessary per se. I was alone for years. But now with my new family? They do the work for me. They follow my lead, they look up to me and I … I rejuvenate, my heart beats stronger, my bones less frail, my organs thrive … I live. Is it such a bad thing that I give my loyal followers something to believe in?"

"And the people you sacrifice?" John asked bitterly, thinking of all the years Tony had been chasing this group … and how many years before that this old fart been selfishly prolonging his life. "What do they get to believe in?"

Brown stood back and nodded thoughtfully, hand back on his own chin, long wrinkled fingers tapping. "That is unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" John parroted, astounded. He didn't know why he was shocked but he was. "This wasn't about saving evil at all. This was all about you, you son of a bitch!"

"Well …" Brown shrugged and a sly smile formed on his lips. "My followers don't need to know that. They think they are doing good for the world and I get to go on. It's a sacrifice I am comfortable with."

John glared, but didn't dignify that with an answer. "Why didn't you just kill Tony? You obviously knew what he was, what he could bring down on you."

"Ah, you see, it's what he brought to the table that made it worth the risk."

"And what was that?"

"Caleb Reaves … quite a powerful psychic that boy. Yes, Johnathan, I know all about your little secret society. Tony was very helpful once he was 'convinced' to help us. Caleb's psychic ability could have been just what I needed to stop the rejuvenating process from killing my powers."

"Killing your powers?"

"An unfortunate side effect I have yet to discover why. None of that matters now that young Caleb is no longer with us."

John tried to push away the Caleb sized hole in his heart that brought his nausea back to gnaw at him. "Look's like you're stuck with me."

Brown laughed again and John had the sudden urge to want to shove his fist down the old man's throat for that alone. It grated against his nerves. "It is true. You aren't exactly what I was hoping for but you will serve a purpose. Losing the Knight of the Brotherhood and his protégé in one hit? It would be a big blow would it not?" Brown asked, stopping in front of John and placing a hand on his chest. "I _am_ in the market for a new heart."

xXx

"You doing okay?"

Caleb jumped as a hand lightly slapped his back and the bed dipped next to him. His hands tightened in the covers, trying to find something to ground him.

"I'm peachy," Caleb responded after a few convulsive swallows.

"Maybe you shouldn't have left the hospital just yet?"

"I said I was fine!" He'd had this argument with his doctor, his father, Bobby and Dean already once before everyone finally accepted that he was an adult and was allowed to make his own fucking decisions. There wasn't anything keeping him there. He knew how to handle a damn concussion and his … his eyes? Well the Doc had already said there wasn't much more they could do in the hospital and Caleb wasn't sitting on his ass like some pathetic invalid while everyone tried to fix his screw up.

"Yeah, so you've said the first thousand times, Damien, but you can't see yourself."

"Nice … funny … I'm glad you've kept your inappropriate humor through this." The weight of the dark glasses Caleb had demanded someone get for him was heavier than normal. It was a constant reminder that something was wrong, that he didn't just have his eyes closed.

Dean was silent for a few beats, giving Caleb a chance to straighten up, let go of the death grip he had on the motel bed comforter and try to at least look like he wasn't going to fall apart at a moments notice.

"Dude, I'm sorry … I didn't mean …"

Caleb rolled his eyes and huffed. "Shut up … I don't want apologies; I just don't want to be treated like a baby."

"And we're not."

"Really?"

"No, Damien, it's called looking out for you. Your Dad … we're all just worried about you."

"How about you worry about Johnny? He's the one that's in trouble." It had come back to him in the hospital, the whole damn thing. He'd led them into a trap, a trap that he had been warned about. John hadn't trusted the situation and Caleb had waltzed right in like a fucking amateur … and now John had paid the price.

"We're working on it. We've been back to the bar, we've … we've got some leads. Mac, he's been using his mojo - trying to get a read off Dad's car keys. He's still alive, Damien."

"For now."

"He's going to stay that way. We're going to find him."

"Did you … did you go back to the old run down church Tony told me about? It was in one of his last reports before he turned his back on us."

"Yeah, man. It's empty. Mac and Bobby are there now, seeing if they can find some something, or get a read on something."

"Where's the runt?"

"He went with them."

"I should be out there!" Caleb growled, standing suddenly and almost tipping over with the sudden movement. He managed to right himself and then stopped. He didn't know where the hell to go. He didn't know what was around him. This place wasn't familiar. "I should be helping, not sitting here with my thumbs up my ass."

"How? You can barely navigate this motel room. How are you going to go on a hunt?"

"This isn't just any hunt!" Caleb shouted in the direction Dean last was. He hadn't heard the mattress springs creak so he assumed the younger man was still seated.

"Exactly!" Dean snapped back, followed by the spring uncoiling, Dean had stood and Caleb raised his hands in front of him slightly, losing perception of his surroundings. "This isn't just some hunt. This is Dad, Damien!"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means we can't hunt and rescue Dad and worry …" Dean stopped mid sentence and Caleb found himself turning to face the loud deep breath. Glad to have Dean's location again.

"And worry about me, right?"

"You could get hurt, Caleb," Dean stated softly.

"What do you expect me to do, _Dean_?" Sitting still had never been a skill that Caleb had excelled in and now it was so much worse.

He felt like he was in this black hole, floating around aimlessly while his family put themselves on the line because of him. At the same time he felt claustrophobic … like he was stuck in this little dark space and he couldn't get out no matter how much he tried. It was suffocating and it frightened him. If he was going crazy now? How would he be if this blindness was permanent?

"I want you to take it easy, stop fighting us every step of the way … listen," There was a hand on his wrist and Caleb only tensed for a moment, knowing it was his friend but still hating that he couldn't see what was around him, having to make do with smell and sound. It was like someone had cut off his arms. He begrudgingly let Dean lead him back to the bed. When he felt the edge of the mattress brush against his leg, Caleb sat down and shrugged out of Dean's grasp, ignoring his sigh. "Listen, I know you're scared …"

"I'm fine."

"Cut the bullshit, Stevie Wonder."

Caleb flinched but forced a smirk to form and glanced in Dean's direction. "Please … I'm more like Han Solo after the carbon freeze."

"You're scared." Dean wasn't biting. "Don't pretend you're anything but, because I aint buying what you're selling, dude. And I get it, man, I do. I don't blame you but going off half cocked and blind as batshit isn't going to help you and it certainly isn't going to help Dad."

"I just … I just don't want to be kept in the dark, Deuce. I already am literally … and I can't …?" Caleb pressed his lips together, jaw clenching. "This is my fault …"

"Damien…"

"Shut up and let me finish."

"Sorry." Dean patted Caleb's jean clad knee and then removed his hand from Caleb's space, simply sitting there beside him. "Go on …"

"This is my fault and I need to be a part of this or I'm gonna go nuts. I need this, man." If John didn't make it out of this? If he died because of Caleb's lack of judgement? The blindness would be the least of his worries. Caleb would never forgive himself. "I need to help bring him home."

"He's coming home, Damien and he's … he's gonna be fine."

Caleb chuckled, a dark tone morphing the sound. Dean was scared. He might have been saying all the right positive things but Caleb wasn't a fool. He knew his friend inside and out. He knew the different inflections in the kid's voice and what they meant. He was putting on a show for his benefit. Caleb reached up and removed the sunglasses while his other hand moved in to rub at his useless eyes.

"Damien, are you okay?"

"What?" Caleb automatically blinked and turned to look at his friend, finding nothing. Just a big fucking abyss. "I told yo… aghh!" He yelped, his hand rushing up to his temple where a bandage still covered the bullet's graze.

"Dude …"

Caleb waved his other hand in the vague direction of his friend, dismissing his concern until another painful spike hit, sending fireworks off in his head. Dean's hands were on him now. The kid had moved in front of him, hands on both shoulders. Dean's grip was tight. He was freaking out. "Damien, speak to me, man."

"God …" Caleb had meant to speak; he really had … until he'd been robbed of breath. "Fuck … not n-now!" One hand pressed hard against his head, Caleb reached out and gripped Dean's arm hard. He slipped forward off the mattress, his body curling into itself against the nausea inducing lightning bolts hitting his head.

"Mac! Mac, hurry! I … I think he's having a vision! Just hurry!"

For a second Caleb thought his father had returned. He was spinning, didn't know which way was up and down. And all thoughts scattered across his mind. Flashes of white danced and zipped around the darkness he'd been encased in, the edges of black sizzling and fading as a vision took hold of him.

xXx

Caleb was having a vision. It put Sam on edge. The movies in Caleb's head were rarely good and he'd over heard Mac and Bobby talking in the hospital about the possible negative effects of Caleb experiencing a vision after his head wound.

Sam couldn't sit still, his young body on edge; almost trembling with anticipation of what they would find when they reached the motel, of what Caleb might be seeing. Was he seeing his Dad's death? The thought made Sam's heart leap into his throat. The thought of losing him terrified the young teen.

"Can we go any faster?"

"Goin' as fast as I can, Mac," Bobby remarked from the driver seat.

"He'll be okay, Mac. Dean is with him," Sam tried to comfort the Scholar even though he knew Mac wouldn't be happy until he was there with Caleb in front of him.

"I'm sure you're right, Sam."

Sam held onto the arm rest with a white knuckled grip as Bobby rounded a corner a little too fast, tyres squealing. Sam wasn't scared, not of that, because he knew that Bobby was an excellent driver. It was the one thing he was sure of right now.

His small body rocked forward as Bobby skidded to a stop outside the motel room door, an old couple sitting outside at the table outside of their room, looked at them disgruntled by the hazardous driving.

As soon as the car was in park, Sam had the door open and was racing for their room only to stop short when he remembered Mac had the keys. Sam turned to see if they were coming and came face to face with the psychic's torso. He stepped aside quickly and Mac wasted no time in unlocking the door and rushing right in. Bobby followed, leaving Sam last to close the door behind them.

"Caleb!"

Mac's voice was fearful and Sam found himself biting his bottom lip as he took in the sight of Caleb on the floor, his upper body in Dean's arms. Caleb's eyes were open slightly and he was sweating, breathing hard like he had run a marathon. "Is he okay?"

"I … I dunno. He just came out of it," Dean told them shakily.

"Caleb … son?" Mac lowered himself to one knee and took the younger psychic's chin in his hand.

There was no spark in Caleb's gold orbs, the were dull and lifeless and Sam had been having a hard time looking at them since Caleb had woken up in the hospital but at the same time it was hard to look away.

Caleb shook, and jerked in Dean's grasp but seem to come back to himself. "J-John …"

"Caleb, it's me, your father. Can you tell us what you saw, son?" The doctor placed two fingers to Caleb's throat, checking his pulse.

"Dad? Oh shit!"

"Damien, what is it?" Dean asked, his eyes glued to his friend. Sam wasn't even sure his brother had looked up at their entrance.

"Fuck … Dad, John … it's bad … t-they mutilated him … took his heart … oh God, I think I'm gonna be sick." Caleb moaned.

Sam jumped out of the way when Bobby moved fast, grabbing Caleb by the arm and helping him up. Caleb seemed to get the idea and got his feet working enough to stumble along with Bobby's helpful silent direction.

Sam wrinkled his nose as the sound of retching met his ears. Mac was already on his feet and heading over to the bathroom. Dean, however, stayed where he had been sitting with Caleb, his hands shaking a little. Sam was sure his brother was still a little in a world of his own. He rarely let Sam see him like this.

"Dean, are you okay?"

Dean finally looked up, his features schooling a little now and he stood on shaky legs. "I will be, Sam, when we have Dad back."

"Me too." Sam agreed, swallowing thickly. "Me too."

**TBC …**

* * *

**A/N-2:** I really hope you all enjoyed that. I know I am bad and evil for leaving you with a cliffy again. There is something in my brain that signals and end to a chapter when I get to these parts LOL I hope to not take so long this time. I will try!

In other news before I allow you to read? **Jim Beaver** has officially signed on to do conventions in **Sydney and Melbourne in May 2010**. OMG I am excited. To finally get to meet that man? WooHoo! I'm looking forward to seeing who the other stars will be :)

Also, this year at **KazCon** I participated in the Writing and Vidding Charity Auctions. **Sandy,** bought me asked for a Sam video to the song **"Find Your Way"** by a local Chicago Band called **Lovehammers.** I fell in love with the song and it tells Sam's story really well. I had an awesome time making it :)

Here is the link if you so wish to view it ...

**http : // www . / watch ? v = OiZUioOY0Tk & feature = channel _ page **

... or check my profile page for the link to my YouTube page :)

Have a good week everyone :)

**Tara x0x**


	4. No Time For The Blame Game

**A/N1: **It's been over a month. I do apologise. I do have the best intentions to post more regularly. I really, really do. Real Life doesn't agree with that apparently. I am sorry I haven't taken so long though ;) I hope you have all been well and I hope you enjoy this despite how pathetic I have been with posting. Thanks to **Angelustatt, Mum** (who enjoyed some imagery a little too much lol) and **Ridley C. James** for all helping with this chapter. I appreciate your help guys ;). Any other faults? Are all mine.

* * *

**Chapter 4. No Time For The Blame Game.**

"Jesus…" John gasped, cold water filling his mouth in the process. "… fuckingchrist!"

He had been waiting for it, suspecting it as he had stood the in massive wooden tub. But the shock of freezing cold water hitting his dry skin had him almost jumping out of it, injuries be damned. The cuffs – one end connecting to rings on the inside of the tub and the other encircling his wrists - put a halt to such action, keeping him locked in place and unable to move from the water's unforgiving path.

"You're lucky Father Brown isn't here," Tony commented from his perch on the steel arched ladder. "Cursing the way you are." He climbed down, the now empty bucket swinging from his wrist and clinking against the ladder.

"Do you think I give a …aggh!!" John growled, his response cut off by the pain spreading out through the break in his arm. It was constant and agonising in the raised position. John couldn't think, couldn't see or breathe.

"God …" John gasped as the bones shifted.

He was trying to hold himself still but that was virtually impossible in his position. If it hadn't been for the cuff holding his arm up? John knew he probably wouldn't have been able to lift it at all. He'd told Tony that he hadn't needed to cuff his injured arm. He wasn't getting away, not in his condition, not when he was chained to the fucking wooden tub, naked with an arm that exploded with any movement.

Shaking, John closed his eyes and tried to still his shaking. He could hear footsteps descending once more and Tony lowered himself to the ground to no doubt get more water.

The breeze hit John's skin and it rippled with goosebumps. Water was in his eyes, flattening his hair to his head; thin rivulets ran down his face from the last bucket of water that had been poured over him.

"I know you can't be comfortable but you'll feel much better once we get this over and done with," Tony's said. "Your part in this is almost over. Caleb's loss won't be in vain, Sir."

"Don't … Don't _you_ talk about him," John snapped, trying to look over his shoulder. He didn't want a reminder about Caleb's fate and he didn't want to hear about it from Tony.

"He looked up to you, y'know," Tony continued, the ladder rattling again as he climbed it once more. "Painted you as some kind of hero."

"Your point?" John growled, squeezing his eyes shut before opening again and looking up at Tony who was now standing above him, the now full bucket poised over him.

Tony shrugged. "Hero's are supposed to save people, right? Like Kyle Reese and John Connor, Riggs and Murtaugh … uhhh John McClane … Batman…" Tony paused and then lowered the bucket, clicking his fingers together and pointed down at John. "Or Magnum PI … man, he had a great car…"

"Are you … g-going … somewhere with th...this?" John asked, his arm was throbbing and aching. He tried to keep his teeth from chattering but it wasn't exactly the warmest weather out in the open and he was dripping wet. His arm was in constant distress and he had this kid rattling off fictional characters to him.

"If you're the hero Caleb made you out to be then why are you fighting this? Why are you fighting Father Brown's mission?"

"Because _Father_ Brown is a … ahh … he's a fake, you stupid son of a bitch."

Without warning water came cascading over his head and down his body, chilling him further. The shock made him jerk in his restraints, pulling at the broken appendage. He cried out hoarsely and almost allowed the sensation pulsating through him to force him to collapse.

His legs were shaking and it had nothing to do with the ice water they were 'cleansing' him in. His body wanted to drop, the pain overriding the power to hold his weight … but he knew he couldn't. "Fucking undo it … now …" He didn't care that it sounded like begging.

"I'm not allowed …"

"I don't c-care!" John shouted, his voice ragged like he'd been eating gravel. It hurt … that's all that his mind could process - It relentlessly fucking hurt.

He stumbled forward, water splashing around his thighs. The thought of dropping and just allowing himself to drown was enticing just to get away from the pain. But he couldn't. "I don't care … just do it … fucking hell..agghh."

With his heart racing to the point that it might just beat out of his chest in its panic, John started to wonder if a heart attack was a possibility. If he died right then and there of a heart attack would that make the organ useless for the evil son of a bitch? Kill two birds with one stone. Kill the pain and ruin the bastard's self indulging master plan.

John pressed his wet face against his good arm, eyes closed and breathing heavy. Throwing up would be bad. He didn't exactly like the idea of bathing in his own vomit and it would kind of negate the reason for him standing in the oversized tub to begin with.

He coughed and whimpered. It was a sound he hated coming from his own mouth. He hated it with a passion. Weakness was not an option yet he had no control. Water trickled from the hair at the back of his neck and travelled down his back. He shuddered, his lips falling open in a silent cry and then suddenly his wrist was released.

His arm fell to his side, blazing with fire. On instinct John tucked his injured arm against his body and his knees buckled. Water splashed up and hit him in the face as he hit the side of the tub.

"I'm not stupid, John. I know Father Brown isn't really a priest … just like you're not really cooler than Batman … although you do have a pretty sweet ride."

John breathed in and out through his mouth, leaning on the arm still attached to the cuffs. The water was rippling around his waist now that he was able to sink lower and it was hard to tell whether it was colder under the water or outside of it.

John glanced up through wet lashes at Tony who was leaning with his elbows on the rim of the wooden circular walls. "You know he's a fake?"

"He's a fake _priest_ … but his intentions aren't fake, John. He's doing what needs to be done and if his chosen role helps everyone feel at piece with the sacrifices? Then is that really such a bad thing?"

"You're a fool."

"It's been said … but in the end humanity will thank me."

"Is that …" John stopped as a spasm hit him, causing him to cough; the force rocked his injured ribs. Pulling himself together, John sat back on his haunches and caught the sight of red on his restrained arm. Blood … he'd just coughed up blood. "Oh that can't be good," John muttered to himself.

"Is that what, John?" Tony pressed from above.

"Is that going to make you feel better when you willingly take a human life?" John asked. He knew what it was like to take a life. He'd lost count during Nam and had again when the time called for it had to in his war against evil … but it had never been easy and it never would. John had always told the boys that the moment it became easy? That's when he would worry.

"I guess we won't find that out," Tony stated, lifting a wooden fold up ladder from his side of the tub and unfolded it to drop into the water.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm not the one that is going to kill you. Susan is the one that must prove her loyalty to the family. She's the one that will be cutting out your heart."

xXx

The midday sun shone down on his face, feeling like it was resting a warm hand on his cheek. He could smell gas fumes mixed with the aroma of lamb kebabs cooking. It was all smells that he was accustomed to when on the road – on a hunt.

It was odd and very unsettling to feel it, to know it was bright and sunny and not be able to see what he imagined was a bright blue sky … to not be able to see anything but inky blackness. He was standing there, leaning against the car – a rental – outside, breeze hitting his face and he felt like he was trapped, walls closing in.

He couldn't get used to it. He didn't think he could ever get used to it. How did normal everyday people dealing with this not go insane?

He was a hunter. It was all he had ever wanted to be once he had been taken in by Mac and shown the enchanting life of the Brotherhood. He had worked so hard to prove to John, Jim and Mac that he deserved a ring, to be a fully fledged card carrying member of their secret society. How the hell was he supposed to live with this? How could he hunt?

He couldn't.

He was useless. He'd had to argue until he was blue in the face to get his father to agree to him tagging along. He knew Mac was just looking out for him, that he was worried for him. But Caleb couldn't stop the taunting voice inside his head that kept telling him it was over. This was it. He was going to be a useless pathetic excuse for anything.

"This isn't permanent, y'know."

"What?" Caleb refrained from jumping at the sudden presence by his side. He should have felt the kid coming. Dean had been like a beacon of stress and fear since this whole mess started and it had just gotten stronger the longer they had been on the road.

Caleb didn't know whether he was grateful that Dean was keeping quiet about it or whether it frustrated him more. He deserved Dean's anger but as always Dean backed him up in his request come on the hunt, had continually reassured him. Caleb wasn't sure whether it was because he believed in him, trusted him or was just being his damn loyal self.

After his vision, Mac had coached him to try and use his abilities as a substitute for his lost eyesight. It made sense. It helped him have a sense of who was around him at least but it took a lot of concentration … and gave him one hell of a headache, especially when everyone was so wired.

"Your vision."

"Not if we get there on time it won't be." He'd seen John die. Had seen them take his heart and he had felt the satisfaction from his murderer. Having death visions had never been a picnic … in fact it sucked. But it sucked a whole lot more when it was the people you cared about falling victim. "He's not gonna die, Deuce."

"I know he won't," Dean replied with conviction that most would believe if they didn't know Dean, if they couldn't feel the inner turmoil. "He's too stubborn to be taken out by some lousy cult."

The smile in Dean's voice almost made Caleb's lips twitch. "You're not wrong." But the shakiness in his friend's voice sobered him, reminded him of what he had cost Dean by his own stupidity.

"Of course I'm not. But that's not what I was talking about."

Caleb turned his head in the direction of Dean's voice. "What _are_ you talking about then?"

"Your eyes, man. It's not permanent. The doctor said …"

"The doctor _said_ …"

"… _that_ time will tell. You just have to be patient, dude." Dean leaned back against the car next to him, nudging his arm with his own.

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. "The doctor couldn't promise anything."

"And naturally you have to head straight for the negative," Dean answered his voice clipped and annoyed. "The doctor said there was a good chance you'll get your eyesight back."

Caleb sighed. He wanted to believe. He wanted to believe so badly that this was just temporary. "It's dark in here, Deuce."

"I know."

"No you don't," Caleb said shaking his head.

"Damien …"

"Close your eyes, Deuce."

"What?"

"Humour me."

Dean huffed and shifted next to him. "Okay … they're closed."

"What do you see?"

"Nothing."

"No … what do you see? What colour?"

There was silence for a good few moments before Dean answered. "It's kind of a dark reddish colour."

"That's the sun against your eyelids. Just like when you shine a flashlight against closed fingers. Me? I've got nothing … and no matter how much I know that? It doesn't stop me unconsciously trying every minute of the fucking day … so I think I'm entitled to be negative."

"You're right. I'm sorry." Dean moved away from him, anger sky-rocketing and Caleb felt it like a punch. "I don't know how you feel but you know what? Feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to help Dad, Damien, so cut out the girly emo bullshit. I don't …"

"You don't what?" Caleb snapped back, brows dipping in a frown; he felt the need to push. "You don't need me screwing up again? Getting Johnny killed? I know that's what you're thinking."

"What are you talking about? You think I blame you for this?"

Caleb laughed, the sound unpleasant, even to his own ears. "You telling me you don't?" he countered, pushing away from the car and turning in the younger man's direction.

"I don't …"

"Don't." Caleb ordered quietly, cutting Dean's denial off. He didn't want any more lies. He deserved whatever he had coming … especially from Dean and Sam. "Just don't. You've been broadcasting so loud that I can barely hear myself think. Hell, I don't blame you."

There was silence. No immediate rebuttal, no more denial … just silence and it was almost worse than the idea of hearing Dean admit that what he was saying was right. Caleb swallowed hard, suddenly realising that in his anger and burst of self recrimination he had moved away from the car … he'd lost his base.

The hands on him made him gasp, breaking him out of the panic that came with not knowing where things where around him. Familiar hands fisted in his shirt and pushed him back against the car again.

"Fine!" Dean hissed. "You want to hear that I blame you for what's happened?"

This was it. This is what he had been pushing for. Caleb brought his hands up and grasped at Dean's wrists as the boy shook him hard against the car. The touch was electric, emotions high and brought to the surface.

"I told you I didn't trust Tony … I _told_ you. Dad told you. But did you listen? No … and now my Dad is about to play the main board piece in a very real fucking life size game of 'Operation'. You were stupid, Damien … you fell into his trap without him even breaking a fucking sweat and you're damn right I'm pissed at you."

He had thought he would feel better when it was out in the open. It hurt … and it hurt even more because he knew Dean was right. Everything he'd just said was right. He had been an idiot. He had fell for a trap that he had been warned about, that he should have seen coming and now John was paying for that.

"But do I blame you? No."

Caleb's head was spinning at that declaration. "You should. This is my fault."

Dean shook him again. "You're a victim in this too, dickhead. Maybe you should have listened, maybe you should have been more careful but you're not the only one that got caught here. Jim let you go to the meeting, Dad managed to get himself caught … should I blame them too?"

Caleb pulled his head back and tried to shift out of Dean's grasp but the damn kid just held on tighter. "What? No!"

"You've spent time with Tony, you gained trust … somehow … you tend to think the best of people until they prove you otherwise. It doesn't make this any better, by a long fucking shot, but it's not a sin, dude. You got fooled and … and you should have taken me more seriously, but no way do I blame you."

"I blame me." Those three words almost got caught in his throat.

Dean's hands un-fisted and he patted him on the chest before removing his hold. Caleb could still feel his close proximity. He was still standing there but back a tiny bit as if knowing that Caleb needed room to breathe.

"I know you do. You wouldn't be you if you didn't. You're worrying me, Damien. You're in a dark space right now …" Dean paused and coughed slightly and Caleb wondered if Dean had caught the pun.

The kid had been apologising for a lot since he'd woken up in hospital and had tried to avoid using words like 'see' and 'look' like he hadn't wanted to remind Caleb of his predicament. It just served to frustrate Caleb further. How could Dean be worried about him while his father was about to have his heart ripped out?

"You're not alone here, man. It might seem like it in that freaky head of yours but you're not. You're eyes are going to get better but until they do you have us to lean on. I need you to be okay … Dad needs you to be okay. He needs you with your head in the game. I need …"

"Are you boys ready?" Mac's voice interrupted the conversation.

Caleb looked away from his friend, turning completely around, resting his hands flat on the roof of the car. He needed to feel grounded. Glad to have that base back again.

He could hear three sets of footsteps and instantly recognised Mackland's out of the two. His time living with the doctor had made him accustomed to the small things that he took for granted.

He clung to the sound of Mac's footsteps and was glad that he couldn't see Dean's face. He couldn't bear to see the disappointment and even worse? He couldn't bear the concern. He didn't deserve it. "I was ready three minutes ago."

"Car won't run without fuel, kid."

Caleb rolled his eyes behind the dark sunglasses. "No shit, Bobby," he snapped, not being able to stop himself from lashing out.

"Dude …" Dean started, placing a hand on Caleb's arm. He shrugged away from his best friend, keeping one hand pressed against the roof while he felt down the window and door until his fingers brushed against the handle.

"We're wasting time." Caleb wrenched open the door and slid into the car before anyone could respond and shut the door behind him.

No-one immediately followed him but Caleb was braced for a lecture anyway. None of them deserved to deal with a blind tantrum throwing psychic. John was missing, possibly well on his way to loosing his fucking heart. He didn't need to remind them how serious this was.

Caleb clenched his fist and pounded the arm rest. His vision played on repeat in his mind; it had since he'd had the damn thing. Unclenching his fist again, Caleb trailed his fingers along the armrest of the SUV and then up along the head rest of the seat in front of him. He liked to feel his surroundings, to try and get a clear grasp of what was around him. It was all he had.

Finished with his inspection of the immediate area, Caleb lifted his hand up to his face and brushed the sunglasses up, shoving them out the way as he rubbed at his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to calm down. Dean's sympathy and worry was harder to take than the blame he had been going for … he wasn't ready to forgive himself yet.

When the door opened Caleb dropped his hand and turned to where he was pretty sure the window was. It was fruitless to 'look' away from anyone … but he did so, on principle. He had acted like an ass and wasn't ready to relinquish the anger he was holding at himself.

He felt someone slide across the seat towards him; a familiar aroma of coffee followed the intruder. It was someone lighter in weight which ruled out everyone but Sam.

The thirteen year old took his hand and Caleb felt a spark of connection … or maybe it was just static electricity. He didn't know and he was too wired to concentrate on the difference. Sam uncurled his hand and wrapped Caleb's fingers around something warm. The smell of the coffee invaded his senses. It was strong and was probably going to taste like crap … but Sam's silent offer was welcome.

Turning away from the window, Caleb glanced to the side where he knew Sam to be and still felt a rise of irritation at the black void in the young Winchester's place. He managed a smile … or at least he was aiming for one. Mac was always telling him it was the effort that counted. "Thanks Runt."

"No problem, Caleb," Sam replied, his voice edged with a concern that Caleb was sure would have been masked with a shrug of nonchalance if he had of been able to see the him.

He patted Sam on the knee as he heard the other doors open, the car dipped as it took everyone else's weight.

xXx

John tripped over the long black robe they had given him to wear. Tony caught his arm and kept him upright and John growled. He was kind of grateful that he wasn't going to be sacrificed in his birthday suit … but the robe? It was so cliché.

He had been washed and dried and robed and then taken back to the basement where he had been given water to drink. His mind's natural instinct had demanded he not take a damn sip … his bodies need overpowered his instinct.

The robe he'd been given might have been long – covering ever inch and of him and more – but it did nothing to keep the chill getting right through to his bones. Making his broken and cracked bones ache just that much more. To ad insult to injury, the water had been laced – with what? John didn't know – and soon severe muscle cramps had attacked. For a moment he'd almost forgotten the other sources of pain.

Now that he was back out in the open, with the sun losing its bite, John decided he wasn't all that much happier to be outside either. This was it. He was being lead to his death … forced was a more accurate term.

He winced as rocks and twigs bit into the soft skin of his bare feet. He wanted to dig in his heels, halt the process further. His arm felt like it was being sliced with a white hot knife. It stole his breath away and it had only gotten worse the longer it had been left unattended.

John had always held the belief that there was always a way out, that there was always an answer. He was running out of time to find one here. The sheer numbers against him made him feel weak. In his condition he knew damn well that he would find it hard fighting one man off, let alone a whole group of misguided idiots.

John coughed, doubling over with the strength of it. It forced him to his knees and he was slightly surprised that he had been allowed to get that far down.

"Winchester?"

"Your … boss wants … m-my heart? He better make it … quick …" He could taste the bitter, coppery taste of blood on his tongue and tried to mentally conclude what that meant. He was in trouble … that's what it meant. Either Brown was going to kill him or his body was going to revolt against him. Both scenarios were dangerous for John's health.

"Get him up, Michaels, we're wasting time." John felt the boy tense at the sharp, irritated tone from the man behind them. One of Brown's older 'followers' … the one that John had discovered had less patience.

"We're moving, keep your pants on," Tony snapped back and then pulled on John's good arm. "Come on, this will all be over soon," the younger man assured him.

"How comforting," John mumbled as he was helped upright again and followed along with Tony holding on tight to his good arm. It was probably a big reason why he was still on his feet.

"If you would just understand …"

"Never … gonna happen," John interrupted and flinched as he felt someone grab the back of his robe, pushing him on.

The owner of the hand on his shoulder was not as conscious about his injuries as Tony. John gasped but kept his feet going, one foot in front of the other. He could see a cluster of trees coming up. What was beyond that? He didn't know and he was pretty sure right now? He didn't want to know … but he was about to find out.

TBC …

* * *

**A/N2: **I hope you enjoyed this but I would love to hear your thoughts on it. I am pretty sure there is just one more chapter to go. One big ending that I hope will do this 'idea' justice. I am aiming for the **22****nd**** of November**. Wish me luck!

Recently, I went to the **Melbourne Armageddon Expo **with my family, friends** Shelley(ephiny63), Catherine and Stacey**. I had the pleasure of meeting **Joe Flanigan, Jason Momoa, Paul McGuillion** (also from the Paris Hilton sp ep) from Stargate Atlantis. All very awesome guys, all very hot … and cuddly.

I also had the pleasure of meeting **Christopher Heyerdahl** who played Todd the Wraith in Atlantis but also more recently the demon we all love to hate Alastair! He was amazing. Funny, sweet guy.

If anyone is interested in my accounts? (addy spaced out for FanFic)

Day 1 – **http : // lovinjackson . livejournal . com /48173 . html#cutid1**

Day 2 – **http : // lovinjackson . livejournal . com /48607 . html#cutid1**

Hope everyone has had an amazing weekend :)

**Tara x0x**


	5. Rescue

**A/N1: **Hey! *is ashamed* I honestly don't know why this story has taken me so long to finish. It's just been one of those times when the muse has deserted me and everything sounds like crap. Who knows, maybe it still sounds like crap. I hope it doesn't but with the amount of time I have taken to get this together? I'm kind of frightened that it won't be worth it at all LOL I am SO sorry!!

I want to send out some thanks to my friend **Carikube** for the part Beta, **Ridley and Angelustatt** for the read through and opinion and my **Mum** for helping me proof it.

* * *

**Chapter 5****. Rescue**

John had never thought that the moments before his death would actually be comfortable. He was a hunter, the Knight, one of three leaders of an age old Brotherhood. He was supposed to go out fighting some evil creature in some dangerous battle. Instead he was lying on some wooden table under a canopy of leaves, with the water from the creek trickling in the distance. The pain was still present but no longer as pressing as it had been now that he was off his feet. He could almost ignore the constant throb of his arm … well almost.

It was an illusion of course, not in the hallucinating sense, but more his mind's way of dealing with the condition he was in and the condition he was going to end up in. If he listened he could make out the chanting of Brown's misguided followers. If he turned his head to the side he could actually see some of them … it ruined the illusion of calm.

As if remembering that he wasn't lying back at Jim's pond, John let his head roll to the side. A number of robed figures knelt in a circle around him. Tony was directly in his field of vision, Brown standing behind him with a look of satisfaction crossed with eagerness spread across his features. If anything, John wanted to wipe the smug look off the old man's face before he died.

That wasn't going to happen of course, not with being tied spread eagle to the table and all. If he got out of this by some miracle, he would make sure that Caleb never had to deal with being restrained again. It was an awful feeling.

The thought had come out of nowhere and had felt as natural as the sun rising … only he knew that was an unreachable promise and he kept forgetting that the sun wasn't ever going to rise for the young psychic ever again.

John rolled his head back, facing straight ahead, and closed his eyes. The shock of Caleb's death never lost its intensity and he constantly had to remind himself that it was true like - in some dark way - he needed to keep punishing himself with that breath taking pain. Caleb, the boys … none of them were supposed to die before him. It just wasn't right.

"You're not going to get away with this," John told them all, not having the strength to speak all that loudly. It didn't matter. He was confident that he had been heard.

"Is that so?" Brown replied.

John rolled his eyes under closed lids and then looked back in the immortal bastard's direction. "My friends … they will find you."

"Not before you have played your part, I'm afraid."

"That doesn't matter," John said confidently. "As long as they take you out and stop all this, I can die happy." That was the truth in a sense.

He would never forgive himself for Caleb or for leaving the boys, allowing them to find him like this but he knew without a doubt that Brown's self important plan would be over. "Why don't you just cut this sacrifice for the greater good crap? I know you're a fake."

John tracked Brown's movements as the man slowly approached. A weathered hand gripped his chin and John tried not to flinch at the close proximity. Brown leaned in, all personal space vanished and old eyes stared back at him.

"You and I, John Winchester, know that this is all a means to an end. But I take pride in the art of my charade. I've become accustomed to having others do all my work for me. Why shouldn't I indulge? So why don't you save your remaining strength and … shut your mouth. I can guarantee you no-one here will believe you anyway."

John glared, shirking his head out of the Brown's grasp, trying to look around the man's body.

"Tony!" John called and received no answer. "Tony, you know this is wrong!" He couldn't see the younger hunter, thanks to Brown blocking his view. The man had shown the tiniest specks of confliction here and there since this whole disaster had played out. It was all John had right now … even if it was only a pipe dream. "Tony, you were a good cop, kid … think god dammit."

"I don't think Tony wants to talk to you," Brown didn't move from his spot beside John, limiting his view and with it his options - which he hadn't exactly had a lot of to begin with anyway.

"Well how about he fucking tells me that himself?" John growled. He wasn't insane enough to believe that if by some miracle he got through to Tony that his situation would get any better. Two against a whole mob of misguided people weren't good odds. He wanted Tony's attention now on principle.

"Michaels!" John snapped breathlessly when his only response was the sound of leaves rustling over him in the light breeze. "You're better than this," he continued and then paused, licked his dry lips and closed his eyes. He needed a change in tactic. "Tony … this guy … he killed your friend. You remember that? It's the whole reason you were even after this cult in the first place. He's not a fucking saviour, he's a murderer. Think about this!"

"Tony has done all the thinking he needs to do," Brown intervened, pressing a hand over John's mouth and nose. "Susan, it's time." Brown clicked his fingers on his free hand, snapping his followers to attention.

John squirmed under the hand covering his airways. He grunted as his arms pulled against his restraints reigniting the pain he had been trying his best to ignore. The hand was suddenly removed and John gasped. Fresh air rushed into his lungs and calmed the ringing that had taken up residence in his head.

As the ringing faded John heard murmuring. The sound came from all around, in all different directions. He strained his hearing, turned his head to one side and saw all the robed figures kneeling, their lips moving in a constant stream of one word.

John frowned. It sounded familiar.

_…_

Potestas – John knew that word. It was Latin … meaning power or ability. They were calling for power to defeat a great world wide evil … or at least that's what these people believed anyway. They would never receive that power … and Brown would go on living for centuries - forever if he had his way.

"Aghh …" John gasped as a sudden slicing burn interrupted his thoughts. He raised his head slightly, trying to see where the sensation had come from.

Susan – the girl who had shot Caleb – stood by his legs, holding up a bloody knife, staring at it as if in a trance. John could feel it then … blood. It trailed from his right thigh and onto the table. "What are you doing?" He asked, wincing.

Susan's eyes moved from the blade to John, a smile morphed onto her face and John looked away. She was a lost cause.

"It is time to bless the earth with your rich blood, John."

Brown's voice came from somewhere down near John's feet. John snapped his gaze there. He hadn't noticed that the old bastard had moved. His heart fluttered in panic. "Won't that rui--ahh … shit!" Another blade sliced the inside of his elbow. The wound stung and blood welled, hot against his skin. He felt it pool and dribble.

"Don't worry. We won't take too much. I need that heart of yours strong. Try to relax."

"Fuck you." John spat, his chest rising and falling a little more rapidly.

_…_

The chanting got louder and John was sure they were closing in on him. His time was coming to an end and there was no escape. But when he looked to the side, blinking until his vision focused he saw that no-one had moved. He was losing it. Grunting under the strain of his useless efforts, John tried to weaken his bindings. The more the group seemed to close in on him, the more desperate John felt, adrenaline skyrocketing as he fought instinctually.

Brown's hands found themselves on either side of John's head again, turning it so he could only look straight up once more. The knife hovered above his face, blurring in and out of focus with its closeness. He shut his eyes as it inched closer, expecting to feel the burn of the sharp edge slicing into his skin. Instead he felt something wet wipe alone his cheek and then the other one. His blood. They were painting his face with his own blood like some kind of sick macabre war paint.

"Get off me." John made a futile attempt to stop his attackers.

"Hush now … let her do her job," Brown replied, his hands not moving from their hold on his head.

John wanted to tell him where to go again. He wanted to get up and kill the son of a bitch … the fact that he couldn't? That was pissed him off the most.

xXx

"Mac said to stay in the car."

"Mac says a lot of things."

"Caleb, I think this is a bad idea."

"You like being side-lined because you're a kid?"

Sam stopped walking, all of a sudden, almost tripping Caleb up. "You know I don't."

Mac and Bobby had ordered him to stay by the car. Actually, the order had been to stay in the car and Dean had passionately agreed with this order and then made sure to order Sam to baby-sit him. Dean had been adamant that he wasn't keeping Sam with him for that reason but it didn't help Caleb feel like he was. The three hunters had been gone for ten whole minutes now, armed with Tranquiliser rifles. Caleb just couldn't wait any longer.

"Well I don't like being side-lined just because I'm visually fucking challenged." Sending the others out to a dangerous situation that he had caused was not something the psychic could swallow. "This is my fault."

"I don't suppose anything I say will make you think differently," Sam sighed.

"Are we going to stand here all day?" They had only moved twenty feet from the where the car was parked just outside what he was told was farm gates. He needed to be there – where Dean, Mac and Bobby had gone … where John was. That was all he could think about, afraid that his vision would come true.

"Come on." Caleb felt Sam tug on his arm again. The ground as they walked was a little uneven in places but seemed pretty flat. Felt like your typical dirt road.

Caleb didn't want to freak Sam out but his wounded pride wasn't the only reason they were currently disobeying a direct order from not only Dean and Bobby … but the Scholar of the Brotherhood. Mac was going to be pissed with him. But he couldn't just sit there on his ass and do nothing while John was suffering. It was driving him madder than the blindness. Nothing short of the others tying him down would have stopped him from moving toward the distress he felt – a distress he had caused.

"There is a farm house up ahead …" Sam began but Caleb came to a stop again and shook his head.

"That's not where they are." His senses were on fire. John was in pain. The older man was scared and that terrified Caleb. John didn't do scared very often so when he did Caleb knew it was serious. He didn't exactly want to elaborate to the John's thirteen year old son.

Caleb set them off in a new direction, Sam following him without question even with the lack of sight. He knew when they had left the dirt road. The ground was softer, bouncier like they were walking on grass.

"What exactly are you planning on doing once we get there, genius?"

Sam's question was pretty valid. What was he going to do? Wait for the bad guys to allow him to fumble around in his personal darkness until he got to John … or killed Tony? It wasn't likely that they would be so accommodating.

"I'm workin' on that," Caleb answered, keeping his doubtful thoughts to himself.

Sam sighed. "Now I know where Dean gets that from."

"What?" Caleb asked indignantly.

"The whole walking into trouble without a …"

"Shh…" Caleb gripped Sam's arm hard and pulled the kid to a stop, putting a halt to what he had been saying.

To the Sam's credit he did what Caleb asked for all of … about a minute. "What is it?"

"I sense something … them." He could feel John's presence but it wasn't alone now. He was surrounded, other essences that Caleb didn't recognise and some that he did. Dean and the others were close by as well.

"Actually, I can hear something," Sam told him and then started pulling him along again.

The terrain underneath Caleb's boots was different now. No longer were his footsteps silent. Leaves and twigs and god knew what else was on the ground crunched under his and Sam's weight. Gone was the soft grass that cushioned their steps.

"Where are we?"

"Under the trees. Can you hear them?" Sam asked, his tone seemed stressed and panicky and excited all at once and Caleb was feeding off it, wanting to see what Sam was seeing. Just wanting to see!

But he couldn't see. He had to make do. He still had his ears. And he _could_ hear something. Murmuring … it was hard to make out. "What are they saying?"

"I don't know. I can't tell from here," Sam answered distractedly and then began moving them in a different direction.

"Sam?" Caleb asked, feeling the younger boy take hold of his hand and press it against something solid. The texture was rough, little bumps in the surface trailed under Caleb's curious fingers.

"Just stay here for a moment."

Caleb's investigation of the tree trunk in front of him stopped dead and his heart plummeted when Sam broke all physical contact with him. "Wait … Sam, what are you doing?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. It didn't stop the sudden powerful fear that enveloped him though.

"I'll be back. I just want to get a closer look."

The crunching of foliage indicated Sam's exit from his immediate vicinity and Caleb cursed. "Sam! Dammit!" This wasn't the plan. This was not what he wanted and this was not going to help!

"I'm a dead man," Caleb muttered to himself. Dean was going to kill him. Mac was going to kill him and if they managed to save John –which he had to believe that they would – he would kill him too. "This is bad … this is very bad."

Caleb pressed his lips together in a thin line, his jaw flexing in frustration as he tried to get his bearings. It was useless. He fought the urge to growl, injure himself by lashing out at the closest object – the tree he was currently clutching at for dear life.

Not only had he managed to walk into a trap and get John in trouble but now Sam had wandered off by himself right in the middle of the cult's territory. "Good one, Reaves." And now he was fucking talking to himself. Great.

Tremors ran through his body, raising goosebumps on his skin as a breeze past over him. Quickly wiping at the sweat that had beaded on his forehead and under his eyes where his stupid sunglasses sat, Caleb knew he couldn't just stand there. Of course the thought of breaking away from the base Sam had given him stopped him. What if he got himself lost and made the situation worse yet again?

He wanted to call out for Sam. But that was a bad idea. He didn't know how close he was to ground zero. He didn't know where Sam was. He didn't want to alert his or Sam's presence to the bad guys.

He couldn't call out to Sam but there was no stopping him attempting to connect with the little shit psychically. He stood still and reached out, looking for Sam's signature. He could feel the kid was still close but moving. _Sam, get back here. Now! _There was no answer, not even so much as an annoying teenage dramatised protest that Sam was so good at giving. But he knew the boy had heard him. He was as stubborn as his old man.

Caleb rested his head against the bark and clenched his useless eyes shut. "Shitshitshit!" he cursed, banging his forehead against the tree in quick succession. He needed to man up. He needed to get with it and stop clinging to a tree like a complete pussy. That's what he needed to do.

Taking a deep breath, Caleb tried to centre himself. He was better than this. Turning around, Caleb kept his back pressed to the tree and ripped his sunglasses from his face and rubbed haphazardly at his eyes. He replaced the dark glasses to their previous place on the bridge of his nose once he was ready. "I'm gonna kick your ass, Runt," he muttered, hoping the kid was okay.

xXx

"Look what I found!"

The interruption came out of nowhere and for a second John didn't exactly care what the hell anyone had found. What he did care about was that for a few precious moments the attention wasn't on him.

"I found him sneaking around the tree-line."

John shivered and allowed his eyes to roll shut. He enjoyed the peace, the stillness … the quiet. There was no chanting, no knife slicing into his skin.

"Bring the child closer," Brown ordered, his hands finally leaving John's skin.

"Dad!"

John's face scrunched up, his body tensed and he hoped like hell that he had imagined the still shrill - yet to entirely break - voice of his youngest son. He was in pain, suffering blood loss. He was imagining it. Sam wasn't really there. He couldn't be.

"Dad?" Brown asked with a hint of interest. "You must be Samuel, the Knight's youngest," the old man clarified.

John's eyes peeled open and twisted his head to the side. The sight that greeted him was the one he had been praying he wouldn't see. All his praying was useless - as per usual - because there was Sam, being held by one of Brown's creeps.

"No … Sammy…" What the hell was Sam doing here? And how had he managed to be in a position to be caught. Where the hell was Dean? There was no peace to be had now. He couldn't die quietly at the unjust hands of some self important asshole. Sam was now in danger.

Fear coiled in John's belly but ignited in anger. He clenched his teeth together and growled.

"Come here, young Sam. You're just in time to see your father make the ultimate sacrifice." Brown walked over to Sam and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, pulling him away from his follower.

"Get your hands off him!" John demanded, watching Sam try to shrug away from the unrelenting grip on his shoulder to no avail.

"Calm down, John." Brown forced Sam up to the table John was tied to, that same irritating sanctimonious look on his face that he always wore. "Nothing is going to happen to Sam. In fact we could use some young blood in our family."

"Over my dead body," John stated, trying to ignore the tremble that ran the entire length of his body.

Brown smirked. "Soon enough."

"No!" Sam shouted, beginning to struggle more earnestly in Brown's hold. "My brother is going to kill you for this!"

"Oh?" Brown paused, glanced towards the trees and then back down at Sam. "Your older brother – Dean isn't it? – he's here?"

"Let me go!" Sam demanded, stamping on the old man's foot and then following it up with an elbow, causing Brown to grunt and lose his grip.

John's heart rate elevated more, making him feel dizzy, as he watched Sam try to fight off men twice his size. It was a losing battle and he hated himself just that little bit more for not being able to do a damn thing to protect his boy.

Sam ran head first into Tony, who immobilised the boy quickly, locking one of Sam's arms behind his back and wrapping his other arm across Sam's chest. He grunted as the locked position didn't deter Sam from trying to fight his way out.

"Tony, keep the child out of the way. It's time we finished this."

"No!!" Sam cried, the sound slicing through John's heart. Sam shouldn't have had to see this. He _desperately_ didn't want Sam to see this.

"Susan, it's time. Enough foreplay. Take his heart."

John kept his eyes on Sam. His son was looking back at him, meeting his gaze fiercely. The boy's chest was heaving frantically and John felt his own matching it. "Sam!" he rasped loudly. "Look away, son. Look away!"

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw the movement of the knife. Susan was holding it directly over his heart. She was saying something but it was all a big blur to him now, his ears buzzing. His heart was racing to the point that he imagined when they cut through his chest it would continue to race right on past them.

And then suddenly everything slowed down … even the air around him seemed to have been put in suspended animation. He looked away from Sam and focused on the knife.

John took one more loud gasping breath and then closed his eyes and waited … and waited …

"Dad!" The slap to his face and the frantic calls from his son shocked John out of his state of delirium. "Dad, you have to wake up."

He opened his eyes and instead of the knife bearing down on him he saw the leaves and the sky once more. Sam was by his side, he could feel the binding's around one of his wrists being tugged at and then coming loose.

"Wha..'s going on?" he could hear himself slurring but it didn't matter because Sam's face was suddenly directly in his field of vision, eyes wide and imploring. Sam needed him.

"Dean, Mac and Bobby are here too. We need to get you out of here." Sam was gone again and John tracked his movements, rolling his head to the other side where Sam was attempting to untie the wrist connected to the broken arm.

It sounded like mosquitos were attacking. With the brotherhood he expected gun fire.

"Not mosquitos, Dad - Tranquilisers. I'll explain later," Sam said hurriedly as he left John's injured arm and moved onto his bound ankles.

John frowned. He must have been thinking out loud. He needed to sit up. Chaos was erupting around them and John found it a little – or a lot – disconcerting that he couldn't hear Brown anywhere. Every time he went to sit up, despite the urgency, he flailed. Any energy he might have possessed had been drained out of him with his blood. He was sticky and cold … and suddenly Sam was at his side once more.

"Come on, Dad."

John sat up with the help of Sam and the world spun wildly. He couldn't think, he couldn't see anything and he couldn't hear anything … and he was worried that he wasn't going to stay conscious.

"Dad!" The urgency in Sam's voice kept jolting him awake each time. Sam helped him pull his legs over the side of the table and John blinked rapidly, shaking his head to rid it of the fuzziness trying to overcome his system.

A quick buzz zapped right by them and both Sam and John jumped and snapped their head to the side just as one of Brown's followers dropped to the floor holding his neck. Without conscious thought, John turned to where the dart had come from and in the distance he could see Dean emerge from the trees, rifle in hands. His oldest looked at him for a split second and then resumed his task – eliminating the threat. Followers were slumped on the ground while some of the others fled.

At Sam's insistent tugging on his good arm, John remembered what they were doing. They weren't asking much from him. He needed his feet on the ground and he needed to get out of there. It wasn't much but at the same time it was almost too much. John moved forward and felt his bare feet press against the dirt. Whether his legs would hold him up was the very next question.

John was almost about to slide from the table when Sam flew from his side, sliding across the dirt and grass to land in a heap. "Sam!!" His cry was cut off by a strong arm around his throat, a knife's pointed tip pressed against his chest. It bit into his skin slightly and John tried to hold his own weight. He was stumbling, causing his attacker to stumble as well but his hold was true.

"Dad!" Dean called, dropping the tranquiliser gun and pulling his .45 out from behind him. He skidded to a stop and John's breath hitched.

xXx

Sweat trickled down the side of Caleb's face and down his neck as he stood motionless against the tree. He didn't know when he had picked up on the other psychic in the area. He'd been so focused on himself, on his own short-comings, on John's pain and Sam's whereabouts that it had hit him almost suddenly. But it hadn't been sudden. He now realised it had that niggling feeling in the back of his mind the moment they had arrived.

The power being used had been targeted at one specific thing, a person … someone that Caleb recognised despite not having known him all that long. He could feel the fight in the other hunter, the confusion and it all made sense and pissed him off at the same time. If he hadn't of been stupid enough to let someone slip him a Mickey in the first place it was doubtful the cult would have gotten this far.

He hadn't prevented anything back then but he could do something now. Breaking the connection between the psychic and his target … but it was hard to track psychically, navigate blindly and create a barrier at the same time without overtaxing himself.

The tree behind him was a solid support at his back, one of many he had used since he had decided he was taking control back. He had to be getting close. The palms of his hands felt sweaty against the tree but he didn't dare move them. Concentration was the key especially even emotions were flying around everywhere just begging to distract him. Everything was much more intense, making it hard to focus. The presence of evil in the former cop's mind was heavy and thick but it also made everything make a lot more sense.

Tony hadn't betrayed him on purpose. He'd been forced. The powerful psychic in the area, had been influencing him. That had been something that they hadn't counted on when going after this cult.

It gave Caleb something that he hadn't had since waking up in that hospital bed. It gave him an advantage. This was something he could fight and he didn't need his eyes to do so.

xXx

"Stop!" Tony's voice blasted his ear drum and his grip tightened. John cried out as his arm was jostled. Pain exploded like tiny little relentless explosions, racing up and down the injured limb. But his pain was ignored. Tony's attention was on Dean. "Don't come any closer."

"Let him go, Michaels."

Tony shook his head; John could feel the movement and tried not to gasp as Tony seemed to clutch at him, rocking his body enough to upset the agonising break in his arm. The whimper slipped out without the hunter even realising.

"I can't. Father Brown said this has to be done … so it has to. I d-don't _want_ to do this." The younger man stuttered, his breath hitting John's ear.

"Then don't." Mac walked up slowly, keeping his distance but lowering his weapon – ever the peace keeper. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, son."

"Don't you get it?" Tony screamed. "I have to!"

"Why?" Mac asked like he really cared. John was surprised considering what had happened to Caleb. Surely they knew, didn't they?

"Because Father Brown says it has to be this way … for … for the greater good," Tony explained. Something had broken. Brown's hold over Tony was wavering.

"He's ly—ahh—lying to you, Tony," John tried. He could feel the disillusioned hunter shaking. "Put the knife down and … and it'll all be over."

"No …" Tony denied again, shaking his head.

"He's gone, Michaels. No-one else is here. You don't need to do anything! Now let my father go. Now!" Dean raged. John could see that the boy was trying to hold it together. To not set Tony off with his own frustrated outbursts.

"Dean…" Mac warned, glancing at the boy.

Dean ignored him and met John's stare and he didn't need to be a psychic to know what he was trying to convey. He was going to do whatever it took to end this, to protect his own. He was going to do whatever it took to do what he had been trained to do - what John had trained him to do.

"No, he's still here. I can hear him." Tony removed the knife from John's chest, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead.

John took the opportunity to move. He slid down and out of Tony's grip. The move cost him as he miscalculated and fell hard on his arm. John screamed his throat raw as he felt the bones clash together and then past each other. One end of the snapped bone broke through his skin. The pain was white hot and finally – when he wanted it the least – John's system shut down.

xXx

"_Dad!!"_

Caleb flinched at the cry and went to his knees as his connection to Tony and the psychic link snapped off. It felt like someone had set off an explosion in his head.

Breaking through the barriers in Tony's mind wasn't exactly an easy task. Whoever had been messing around inside the guy's mind had been strong. But for some reason - that Caleb wasn't ready to contemplate right now - that strength was gone and Tony seemed more confused than anything else.

After allowing a moment or two to recover from the sudden release of connection, Caleb stood up straighter, and pressed his hands flat against the trunk of the tree behind him. He then took a few calming breaths before he pushed off. He stretched one arm out for balance and to search for the tree he knew would be there.

Instead of his fingers reaching and connecting with the tree closest to him, Caleb found himself falling, air rushing up at him the moment his foot caught on something. A stick, a root … it didn't matter. He was falling fast. Caleb's side hit the rocky ground hard, punching a hiss out of him as he rolled over rocks and twigs.

He came to a stop in a splash of cold water, something he hadn't really expected even though he had been able to feel that water was close by.

"Dammit Junior, what the hell do you think you were doing?" Bobby grumbled, splashing through the water toward him as Caleb attempted to sit up. The slimy moss on the rocks made that a harder job than what it should have been.

"I felt like a swim," Caleb deadpanned, allowing Bobby to haul him up out of the creek and into a standing position. He hurt. That tumble had been a bitch of a fall and he knew that he wasn't going to escape the many bruises that were no doubtedly going to develop.

"Well I feel like kicking your ass pulling a stunt like that. Do you …"

"Damien?" His best friend's voice interrupted Bobby's berating. He sounded surprised and annoyed. In fact, pissed off seemed a better term. "What are you doing here?"

"I …"

"It doesn't matter. We can get a full explanation on why he and Samuel disobeyed a direct order when we know everyone is safe," Mac told them. He sounded closer than Dean but still far enough away that he needed to raise his voice to be heard properly. Mac wasn't any happier than Bobby or Dean … not that he had expected any different.

"Is Sammy okay?" Caleb blurted out as Bobby begin to pull him back the way he had fallen.

"Sam is fine. He's with his father," The older man supplied gruffly.

"Johnny?"

"The kid has another father?" Bobby asked, teasing – or mockery – heavy in his voice. "And before you ask, John is alive and he'll be fine the faster we get him out of here so move your sorry ass before I put my foot up it."

Caleb nodded and moved forward under Bobby's constant direction. He didn't ask anymore questions even though he had thousands, he didn't stop and demand to see John and he didn't debate Bobby's fire directed toward him. They needed all the hands they could get and here Caleb was taking Bobby's attention off the more important task of rescuing the Knight.

The crunching under his footsteps was the only sound that Caleb could really register on their walk back to safety. It mixed with the marching band in his mind that his head injury and the overuse of his powers had caused. The others were around. He could feel them. He could hear them if he concentrated on them too. But that just led to him tripping on something that he should have been able to see.

A simple mistake and he couldn't even walk in a straight line without a helping hand. But they had John. They had him and now Caleb could make sure that he wouldn't ever cause this kind of thing to happen ever again. He wouldn't harm anyone else.

xXx

The coffee tasted bitter. Caleb smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in distaste and then took another sip. He didn't exactly know what to do with himself. They were back at the hospital, a different hospital to the one he had woken up in, a little smaller too. But all hospitals were the same with their antiseptic smells and their gentle clutter of noise – on a quiet day – and their white or bright walls and floors. He couldn't see the latter … but he could imagine them clearly.

John had been rushed into the small ER. Mac had taken charge of the situation presenting the hospital staff with his usual declaration of who he was, the prestigious Doctor Mackland Ames, and as soon as John had been given a room the boys had been in there with him.

Bobby … well Caleb wasn't exactly sure where the mechanic had gone. He'd muttered something about making phone calls. That was of course after he had heard both Sam and Caleb's side of the story and then ripped them a new one for disobeying orders. It had been tame compared to what they probably deserved but they were in a hospital waiting room after all.

Tony had at some point been brought into the hospital and was residing within its sterile white walls as well. Mac had taken it upon himself to deal with the young hunter considering his special circumstances and finally let the poor hospital staff look after John.

Caleb wasn't sure what had happened with that or what Jim would ultimately decide to do in regard to Tony. He hadn't been told anything. He'd been left alone with his coffee.

Footsteps approached and Caleb knew who they belonged to immediately. He lifted his head in the appearance of looking at the man. "Is John okay?"

"He lost a lot of blood and his arm was pretty severely broken. It's been stabilised and put in a cast. But on top of that he had a number of shallow cuts and some of those cuts have become infected. There was also some strange substance in his system that we're running tests on."

"_Is_ John okay?" Caleb reiterated. Mac always had a way of rambling off stats and details instead of answering the actual question at hand.

"John will be fine with rest and antibiotics. He'll be in here overnight and all of tomorrow and if he continues to be okay we will move him the hospital in Louisville they determine he is okay to recuperate back at the farm.

Caleb nodded, relief flooded his body and he slumped back in the chair, resting his head on the back. "Thank God."

He almost felt like he could breathe now. John was going to be okay. They had saved him from the terrible fate Caleb had seen. They had gotten him back before Caleb's mistake had cost them all too much. _John was going to be okay_. He continued to subconsciously repeat that over and over in his head until he heard Mac's voice again, repeating those same words. Had his relief seemed like uncertainty?

"He's going to be okay, son," Mac assured him, a hand patting his leg.

"I know … I'm just really glad to hear that, y'know? Good luck trying to keep him in a hospital once he is awake and aware, though." John was notoriously a bad patient. None of them were exceptionally good ones but John liked to excel. "Broken arm be damned."

"That, my boy, is why Bobby is already making arrangements with Jim. It's all about picking your battles."

Caleb snorted. "You sound like John."

"The insufferable man does have a habit of growing on you."

"What happened with Tony?" That was another question that had been plaguing him.

He wanted to kill the son of a bitch for setting him up, for betraying the Brotherhood, for betraying _Jim_ … but he knew he was angrier with himself for not seeing through it. He shouldn't have been able to be taken down like that.

"He's … shaken up. He doesn't remember a lot but he does remembers some few key details. And he is ashamed. I believe his feelings of regret are genuine. I had to sedate him. Bobby was sending out a special group of hunters to try and find this 'Father Brown' character. And also deal with the remaining followers that are no doubt going to be lost after being under his control for so long."

"What do you think will happen to them?"

"Well, my hope is that they can go on to lead normal lives. But that isn't our worry right now."

"What about Tony?"

"That, son, is for Tony and Jim to decide."

Caleb sighed. "I suppose."

"How are _you_ doing?"

"Me?" Caleb frowned. He had almost forgotten about himself. He'd almost been able to believe that he was resting with his eyes closed as he spoke to Mac. Now he was reminded of his predicament and suddenly all this didn't seem quite so over. It never would be. "I'm peachy."

"I think while we are here we should get your eyes checked over," Mac suggested.

"Why?" The psychic questioned. He wanted to hear a doctor tell him that everything was healing that this darkness wasn't permanent. But he didn't want to go through tests with a hope that he wouldn't be able to squash only for it to be dashed.

"Because, Caleb, it is a delicate injury and the more we keep an eye on it the more chance you have of a full recovery." Mac sounded tired. He envisioned his father running a finger over his brow like he always did when he was stressed or tired … or dealing with him or the Winchesters.

"Do you really believe that's even possible, Mac?" he asked reverting to using his father's name. He balanced the coffee cup on his thigh, fingering the lid as he looked out into the darkness that was his world. "I haven't even noticed a bit of difference."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"It doesn't?" Caleb huffed, sitting up again, his shoulders tense. He tossed the rest of his coffee down his throat and then clenched his fist around the empty Styrofoam cup, crushing it.

"There's no harm in checking, Caleb and you will be getting them checked. That's an order."

"Is that the Scholar talking?"

"No … it's your father."

xXx

He was comfortable. It was quiet. There was no chanting, no knifes coming down to slice into his skin. It was just an amazing soft abyss. That was filled with familiar voices.

"_I don't know what the fuck you were thinking, Damien."_

"_I wasn't thinking and for your information, I've already had this lecture from Dad and Bobby. I don't need it from you too."_

"_Sam could have been killed … _you_ could have been killed. What happened to just stay at the car? I'm pretty sure I remember saying that. I remember because I was there when I was saying it."_

"_I couldn't just sit there, okay? Besides you won't have to worry about me making anymore mistakes."_

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

A door closed, bringing silence to the room. It opened again and he heard the question repeated but no answer was forth coming. John could have sworn he had heard Caleb's voice but that was insane. Caleb was dead and he was obviously dreaming … or dead himself. That thought brought about mixed feelings. He was pretty sure death wouldn't be so much … nothing.

There was a slight throb that should have been coming from his arm although it felt like it was floating separate from his body, just there as a reminder, maybe. There was still someone in the room and the moment a hand covered his he knew who it was. The voice, the touch … it was Dean.

"Dad? You okay?"

Dean's voice was closer to him now and the more he became aware the darkness around him dipped, the sounds around him seemed less foggy. Now he could hear the insistent beeping. It was familiar, _too_ familiar and life affirming. If that was him that was beeping it meant that death was no longer a consideration.

"Dad? You awake?"

John opened his mouth to speak and croaked instead. He licked his lips and suddenly realised how thirsty he was. He wondered if he had actually managed to speak out loud when a straw was placed at his lips.

"Just a little bit, Dad. Mac says to go slow."

John sipped a little bit of water through the straw before it was cruelly taken away. He licked his lips yet again and opened his eyes to at least half-mast. "Dean?"

"The one and only," Dean answered. "Sammy's eating in the cafeteria with Bobby but he is going to be so happy to hear you've been awake. How are you feeling?"

John smiled at Dean's rattling on. It was like the kid was trying to say everything at once in case he lost the chance. "Like I was a … sacrificial lamb."

"Are you in pain? Do you need anything?" Dean asked, obviously not ready for humour yet.

"I'm fine," John told him, grabbing Dean's forearm and squeezing it. It wasn't too far from the truth. The throbbing he could feel from his arm wasn't yet strong enough to cause alarm. He felt more tired than anything else. The good drugs were still doing wonders. Besides it didn't feel right getting all this care from his son when he had managed to allow the kid's best friend to be killed. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Confusion was evident in Dean's eyes. "For what?"

"Caleb … I should have … should have saved him." He could feel his body demanding he hide back in the soft and floaty abyss. He was tiring already but he couldn't allow himself the luxury of rest until he verbally atoned for his mistake.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, he's gone," John apologised again. "He was k-killed on my watch … shit." He felt his chest seize up as his eyes burned. He couldn't help or control his emotions. He was too tired and a young man he considered like his own sons was dead because of him. He didn't want to control his emotions.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa …Dad, you think Caleb is dead?" Dean asked incredulously.

"I saw him go down … I … I couldn't stop it. I wasn't fast enough." Mac would hate him. His friend had always trusted him with his son even though he bitched and moaned about John's methods. He couldn't face the man … but he knew he would. John didn't shirk away from his responsibilities.

"No, Dad … he's not dead. He was just in here. He's moody and broody and a pain in the ass, but he's not dead."

"What … how?"

"The bullet grazed his head, knocked him a good one. He's … well he's alive and blaming himself for you being hurt. You make a great pair," Dean chuckled but John sensed the kid was leaving something out.

"You … you're sure?" It sounded like a stupid question but the reality of what Dean was saying was battling with the grief that had been plaguing him since he'd heard that gunshot.

Dean placed his hand in John's again and it was more comforting that John would have imagined. They weren't the most touchy feely family in the world but John appreciated that lifeline from Dean now.

"I'm sure. How about you get some rest and I'll make sure the stubborn ass is here when you wake up?"

John blinked. His eyes were getting heavier by the second. "Y'sure?" he slurred one more time.

"I'm sure … now rest."

Caleb was alive. He carried that thought with him as he finally lost the battle between consciousness and the restful darkness of his mind. Caleb was alive.

**TBA…**

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**A/N2:** Okay, I know I said this only has one more chapter but I found that I couldn't fit this all into one more chapter which some people already thought I was nuts for thinking it would LOL SOOOOO I have an epilogue coming and thankfully it is already written ;)

Tara x0x


	6. Epilogue

**A/N1: **So here it is, folks. The last chapter, the epilogue. I hope it doesn't disappoint. I haven't enjoyed the journey even though it drove me insane not being able to post it as regularly as I would have liked. I hate to keep you waiting hehe

Thanks again to all the appropriate people! All Mistakes are my own!

* * *

**Epilogue**

_Blind faith will just make you walk into a wall._

_- Victor Webster's Twitter_

(Even if it's not really him I thought it was kinda cool LOL)

"_I don't know what to say, man," Tony said, standing in front of Caleb on Pastor Jim's front porch._

"_There isn't much you can say," Caleb replied, his hands in a white knuckled grip on the railing. He had mixed feelings about talking to the man._

"_For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone in alone and I'm sorry that you got hurt because I did. I am really sorry."_

_Caleb was angry, he was beyond angry but the honest to god regret coming from the other man was tempering the rage. Mac was right. Tony's emotions were genuine. Caleb was beginning to think that he wouldn't have even have to be psychic to feel the inner torture Tony was putting himself through. It was pouring off him. "I know you're sorry."_

_The floorboards creaked as Tony shifted his weight. "Well like I've already discussed with Pastor Jim and John, I'm … I'm finished with hunting."_

"_What are you going to do?"_

"_Go back home, I suppose. Get back on the force – if I can - and live my life. I got what I came for. The cult is gone and I know what happened all those years ago."_

"_Brown is still out there," Caleb pointed out. _

"_Not for long. Hearing John speak, I have no doubt he will find the bastard. He's a good man … a great hunter."_

_Caleb nodded. "He is."_

"_So are you…"_

"_Was," Caleb corrected._

"_Could be again. Dr. Ames says …"_

"_Don't," Caleb warned. It was one thing to not kick Tony's ass for what happened but he didn't want to hear him talk about Mac's false hope. There was no hope where that was concerned. "Just don't."_

"_Sorry. I guess … I guess I should go. Thanks for everything, man. I mean that."_

_The floorboards of the porch creaked again as Tony's footsteps announced his departure. The moment the sound of a car door opened, Caleb released his death grip on the railing and called out. "Hey!"_

"_Yeah?" Tony responded from down beside his car - a Ford sedan if Caleb remembered correctly. It was nothing flashy – boring according to Dean._

"_Good luck with the whole normal life thing." That was as close to forgiving as Caleb could get. Tony hadn't listened and had caused a big mess, but he hadn't been the only one to fuck up._

"Penny for your thoughts."

Caleb jumped at the sound of John's voice, too distracted by his inadvertent trip back to his conversation with Tony to hear the man come down the stairs. He schooled his features. "Always knew you were a tight ass. My thoughts are worth more than that," he joked. He planted his feet to the floor as he rose from his laid back position. "Should you be out of bed?"

"It's a broken arm, dude. I'm fine. Or at least fine enough to be allowed up without your old man harping on me."

"Good for you."

"How you doing?" John asked and Caleb cringed. He was sick and tired of people asking him that.

"I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Yes really."

"Then what's this I hear about you giving up everything?" John asked, shifting in the armchair.

John never beat around the bush or pulled any punches and Caleb really should have seen this coming. When Mac felt he couldn't get through to his troublesome son he always went to the Knight.

"I'm not giving up everything." Just everything that he cared about too much to be a reminder that he couldn't enjoy it.

"That's not the way I hear it. You have great plans to get rid of all your painting stuff for one," John pointed out.

"Have you ever tried to paint without working eyes? It's no use, the colours, the textures; everything about it is just … gone."

"This isn't permanent."

Caleb stood then, irritated with hearing this broken record from his family time and time again. "You know, no matter how many times you or Mac or Deuce or anyone says that, it doesn't mean it will come true." He manoeuvred sightlessly around the coffee table and paced. He had paced the whole living room out, knew how much space he had without having to look like he was balancing on a tightrope.

"You know me better than that, kid. I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it." John remained seated but even without the ability to see, Caleb could feel his mentor's penetrating gaze on him, tracking him as he moved. "But even if it were permanent? That doesn't mean that your life stops, kid. It just changes."

"Yeah well …" Caleb ran his hands over his face, enjoying the feel of not having the sunglasses on his face as a constant reminder. He'd ditched a couple of weeks back when they had all finally arrived home. "I don't like change."

"Not a lot of people do," John told him.

"I never realised how much a part of me my art was until it was taken from me. It calms me, or at times allows me to lash out in a way that isn't going to land me in prison. God, John, I can't even look at my mother's paintings."

"Sit down, dude." John's voice was calm and soft and strong and Caleb found himself doing as asked. "I don't think Jim would appreciate finding his living room floor all worn out."

Caleb tried for a smile and then rubbed at his eyes again. They felt tired like they hadn't had any rest when in fact they'd had the most rest he could ever remember.

"I can't hunt, I can't paint, I can't drive, I can't read – not without learning brail – I'm fucked. I can't do anything."

"And you're giving Tri-Corp up to?" John asked. Mac really had told him everything.

"Why should I keep it?"

"Because it's yours, you worked damn hard to start that company and there is no reason why you need to lose that too." Tri-Corp was special. It was his. It had been created through _his_ hard work, _his_ money. _He'd_ made it a success.

"It's … I'm … I'm kinda freaked out, okay. I hate feeling this helpless, this dependant." Caleb sucked in a breath as that admittance freed itself. That was what this came down to. He was terrified of being stuck this way and he had never been good at letting others help.

John was quiet for a moment and then he stood. The couch dipped next to him as the older man took a seat beside him. "Listen to me for a moment. I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I know how you feel. I don't. It's you that's locked away in there," John reached up and squeezed the back of Caleb's neck, gave him a little shake. "And ultimately what you do is up to you, but do me a favour?"

"What?" Caleb asked in a small voice, wanting to pull away from the contact and reset his image as the tough as nails psychic but also wanting to cling to the support being offered at the same time. It was a weird dance of independence and need.

"Mac's made you an appointment to see an eye specialist in New York next week, right?"

"Yeah some friend of a friend that is supposed to be a miracle worker." Which was exactly what he needed right now.

"Don't make any drastic decisions until after the appointment?"

"Why?"

"Just because."

"I've always hated when you use that answer."

John chuckled. "We all have faith in you, dude. Just give it time."

He didn't want to allow himself that kind of hope. He wanted to have his life back so much it hurt. What if he still couldn't see after this new doctor? That possibility was scarier than any monster he had faced on a hunt.

When enough time went by with Caleb silent, John squeezed his neck lightly again, reminding the psychic that he still hadn't given an answer.

"Fine … okay, no drastic changes until after New York, I promise."

"Good." John playfully pushed Caleb and then pulled his hand away just as the front door opened. Dean and Sam walked inside, Pastor Jim behind them, hanging his jacket on the coat rack.

"Dad, look what Mrs. Olsen gave me for my birthday," Sam announced, walking straight over to John to show him his prize.

Caleb grimaced. "God, it isn't Tuna is it?" He would never forget that bad batch of Tuna Mrs. Olsen had almost killed them with.

"It's a camera," Dean told him as he took a seat on the couch beside his friend.

"How about I take a photo of you all?" Jim suggested.

Caleb started shaking his head already as Sam agreed, handing the contraption to Pastor Jim. "No … the photo will be fine without me."

"Please Caleb," Sam stood in front of the older boy and stared him down; Caleb could feel that even without seeing it. "Please …" Sam added.

"Come on, Damien, if I gotta be in this photo so do you."

Caleb sighed. "Fine," he answered and grabbed hold of Sam as he shifted over and shoved the kid down between himself and John.

For a few seconds the only sound in the room was the sound of Jim trying to work out the camera. "It's prehistoric," Dean told Caleb.

"It's okay, boys. I have it worked out now. Now, John, try for a smile."

"Just take the damn photo, Jim," John grouched.

Caleb smirked at the exchange and placed his arm over Dean's shoulder.

Jim counted down and then took the picture. It clicked loudly and then flashed ... white light flashed into the darkness behind his eyes and Caleb flinched. The light was gone just as fast as it had come but had left behind a resonating pain.

"Damien?"

Caleb ignored the call, pressing his fingers into his eyes in reaction to the sharp spikes that kept imbedding themselves there. "Ahh … shit."

"Caleb, are you okay?"

The psychic nodded and finally when he felt Dean's hand pulling at his own, he let go, his eyelids tightly shut. "What happened?"

"I … I think I saw the flash," he said in pained amazement, as if it were still sinking in. "I saw the flash." He'd seen the fucking camera flash.

xXx

_Caleb's injuries and my captivity aside, this man – no, this thing needs to be taken down. Going back over Tony's research and doing a little digging of my own has shown a pattern that has been going on for at least a hundred years, maybe more. The amount of people that have been killed is astounding …_

John looked up from his journal. He was seated at Jim's desk in the Hunters Tomb and he could hear new voices through the open door. Caleb and Mackland had returned from New York just in time to see John off on his own hunt.

He had done his research, had taken the time to placate Mac where his health was concerned and so that he was well prepared. He'd found that Father Brown had been one of a few alias'. It didn't matter what the monster wanted to call himself, John was going to find him and to make sure that no-one ever died at his hands ever again.

The relief he had felt the day that camera flash had finally broken through that black wall behind Caleb's eyes was second only to the day- only yesterday – when Mackland had called to let them all know that since seeing the specialist Caleb's eyesight was almost back to good after weeks of recovery time.

The return of Caleb's eyesight wouldn't allay the guilt he still held over what had happened and John's own healing broken appendage wouldn't make his own guilt any less. He could still remember how it felt when he had thought that the hard-headed psychic was dead. It wasn't something that he wanted to experience again anytime soon.

John shook his head as he heard laughter upstairs. It was good to see – or in this case, hear – the boys mucking about again. It had been a trying time for everyone. It was time John joined them.

John took a sip of his whiskey and then decided to skull the small amount left, feeling it burn down his throat and then put his pen to paper once more.

_Doc Benton, I know who you are and I am coming for you…_

**The End**

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**A/N2:** So … there it is? Was it okay? Was it terrible? Hit me up coz I'd love to know your thoughts. And **THANK YOU** so much for sticking with this even with my sucky posting schedule. I appreciate it SO much!

My next piece of work I am lucky enough to be writing with the AMAZING **Gaelicspirit**. We have come up with a fantastic canon story that I hope you'll all love. Work on that will be starting soon and it will be posted here at my page and on both of our LiveJournal's. Keep an eye out. *is feeling very lucky*

Well enjoy the boys being back this week. I know I will be :) And I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. Thanks for coming by :)

Tara x0x


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